


Happy Birthday, Mike

by mikeginsanity (blahblahwahwah)



Category: Pitch (TV 2016)
Genre: All Bawson Smut Network Sinning Sunday, Breast Fucking, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingerfucking, Hair-pulling, Mindless Fluff, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Plotless fucking, Porn with Feelings, Romance, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Smut, mindless smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-09-28 11:30:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 36,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10098581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blahblahwahwah/pseuds/mikeginsanity
Summary: It's his birthday.She's wearing that dress.He doesn't know she's got something up her sleeve (or lack thereof).





	1. The Yellow Dress

**Author's Note:**

  * For [youaremyworldlois](https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaremyworldlois/gifts), [oddlyfamiliar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddlyfamiliar/gifts).



> apparently there are no limits to my depravity. I was just minding my own business. 
> 
> and [youaremyworldlois started this ](http://mikeginsanity.tumblr.com/post/157394999737/youaremyworldlois-kylieebunburyy-actress-kylie) and [this](http://ourstartingpoints.tumblr.com/post/157653127707/youaremyworldlois-kylie-bunbury-attending-the).  
> It was just supposed to be a simple one shot from Mike's POV.
> 
> WARNING: SMUT, SMUT, NOTHING BUT SMUT.
> 
> and then oddlyfamiliar went and [posted this. Which, I recommend we all see for science ](http://oddlyfamiliar.tumblr.com/post/157949662476/maybetwice-macaroni-rascal-bawsanity) still stayed at just simple good ol' fashioned smut then [she & youaremyworldlois complicated matters by reblogging this](http://mikeginsanity.tumblr.com/post/157990092212/oddlyfamiliar-nnnnnngh-this-gifset-i-swear-i%20and%20yes) and so now we have a multichapter (2 for sure, maybe 3) fic with a buildup. 
> 
> i'm sure Ourstartingpoints & Bawsanity are at fault somewhere too. 
> 
> it's advisable to see the images of the above tumblr posts before you read.
> 
> brace yourself pitches it's dirty.  
> let me know how your feel about my work.
> 
>  

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ginny has a plan.

In hindsight, he was asking for it.

Fact: Mike Lawson doesn’t favour yellow.

He doesn’t despise it. Lord knows, it’s integral to the  _Padres_  identity. Every second Padres item has yellow in it.

It’s just – it reminds him of gross things. Puke, pee, bananas, lemons, jaundice, Lamborghinis for men with small dicks - Big Bird.

 

 _(Big Bird._  Really – he just  _had_  to make that comment, didn’t he?)

 

As with every other snafu that’s Ginny related, it starts with Amelia, who for some reason (and who knows why Amelia does what she does, really?) reaches the Clubhouse that morning with the dress.

He’s passing by Baker’s closet, finds the blonde impatiently waiting on Ginny.  Mike stops to say ‘hi’, but his words die in his mouth at the sight of something so glaringly yellow hooked over Ginny’s cubby that he’s forced to retrieve his shades.

Amelia rolls her eyes when he does.

“It’s Ginny’s dress for the BET awards.” Amelia explains, “She won’t come to the fitting appointments, so  _I’m_  bringing the fitting appointment over to her.”

“I didn’t ask.” Mike snorts.

Amelia gives him judgey-face. “You’re really failing at not-asking.”

“Can you really blame her, though?” Mike asks, innocently. “ _That_  thing you call a dress could very well be its own power source.”

Amelia gapes at him like he’d accused the Pope of heresy.

“This.” She states, “is a Solace London, 2017, exclusive…”

(i.e. his cue to get the fuck out of there.)

Mike wears the shades and makes a whole show of how he can see better, thereby stopping Amelia’s unasked-for, unnecessary detailed explanation of things he doesn’t care for - like women’s fashion.

Amelia lets out a resigned sigh. “I chose it.” She states, like that’s supposed to help.

Mike cackles. “Does  _she_  know that’s what you chose?” He manages between loud guffaws (because, there’s no way in hell Baker could have agreed to that fugly thing.). He wheels around to leave, only to find Baker there, frowning at him with her arms crossed and her rosy mouth pulled in a pout.

(If Mike’s opinion is sought,  _this_  is how he prefers her - functional athletic leggings, sneakers and a sweatshirt, with her headphones draped around her neck, hair tied back and P-cap on – hundred percent woman, hundred percent baseballer.)

“I liked it.” Ginny bites out.

“Fuck me.” He mutters. “My pitcher is colour blind.” Mike nudges the Ray-Bans onto his forehead and widens his eyes, pretends to be horrified.

Ginny tilts her head and makes a face. He looks back at the dress, thinking it deserves at least another glance, if Baker _could_  like it.  That's when he notes the ostentatious ruffle thingy that’s flopping down along its length and doubles over in laughter. (Mike’s not one to understand the nuances of tailoring but any dress involving that many fronds just  _begs_  to be made fun of.)

“And what the fuck  _are_  those frills about?” He starts to guffaw. “You auditioning for Big Bird? Lord knows, if you keeping throwing sliders like that you might need to." He taps his beard, pretending like he's thinking. "I  _think_ , the position for the San Diego Chicken’s been filled.”

Amelia pinches her lips.

Ginny’s mouth drops and her eyes widen with mock indignation.

Satisfied at having won the first round of bantering for the day, he saunters off, tucking his shades back into his breast pocket.

“Yeah, what would you know about fashion anyway?” Ginny hollers after him, loud enough for the Clubhouse to hear. “You have like, what?  _Four_  button downs you use in rotation?”

“Wooh! Call that a Strrrike!” Sonny (or maybe it’s Melky?) howls approvingly from somewhere.

“Helps take the burden off decision making…” Mike returns. “So, I don’t make…” he makes jazz-hands, “…fashion blunders like  _that_.” He points at the wall – in the direction of her room – where, what he’s convinced is the most hideous dress he’s seen in his lifetime, awaits to be draped around Ginny Baker for a size check.

“Your jacket's from the seventies!” She counters. “Like literally – did you buy it in the seventies, Old Man?”

Mike finds that funny, but he won’t give her anything more than a smug sneer. He hears a clatter of laughter behind him– clearly, the guys agree with Baker’s valuation. He stops at the corridor and turns around, daring her to say more.

“And don’t even get me started on your beard.” She mumbles.

“You love the beard!” He says, narrowing his eyes at her.

She sputters with sarcastic laughter and shakes her head.

“Ginny! C’mon!” Mike hears Amelia’s urgent beckoning.

“I’ll be sure to bring these along to the awards, Baker.” Mike taps on his sunglasses.

Amelia’s head pops out. “They invited you?”

“They  _always_  invite me!”

“They invited the whole team.” Blip announces as he walks past. “We’re all going!”

“Why?” Amelia looks worried.

“’Cause Baker’s presentin’!”  Blip answers, looking at Amelia peculiarly. “As am I?”

“That’s…nice.” Amelia says – but her face indicates that she’s not too happy about it.

She looks at Ginny. Ginny shrugs like it doesn’t bother her.

Mike wonders what that’s about.

“You are going to eat your words, Lawson.” Baker announces before disappearing into her closet.

 

List of snafu’s that have started with Amelia:

  1. Ginny Baker’s entry to the Padres. (Call it what you will, as solid as Baker was a contender, it was the  _I’m next!/Ginsanity_  furore that motivated the Front-Office to call up the female pitcher instead of Walker) - Amelia’s brainchild.
  2. Nearly fucking up his friendship with said female pitcher (also, favourite person on the team, but he’ll die before he admits it out loud) – Amelia sitting alone at a bar.
  3. Realizing certain  _feelings_ ™ - staring at an eight-foot-tall digital painting in a party (- while the subject of said picture was ten feet away in person, snubbing his sorry screw-up ass thereby setting off a spiral of lousy decisions such as drinking too much whisky, ending up at his ex-wife’s house and making a complete fool of himself) –  _“Your head wasn’t in it anyway, you should figure out where it’s been”._
  4. His baby-oil sleek, completely naked body splattered on a magazine spread (- the fact that it was photoshopped to right next to Baker’s gorgeous nude wind-up pose wasn’t something he was complaining about, though) - Amelia’s idea.
  5. That bittersweet decision to call Baker to  _Boardner’s_  instead of moping over his fucked up life in peace, loneliness and quiet -  _“Tell Ginny!”_
  6. Mike eating his words – because Amelia chose  _that_



 

 

“Mamacita!” Livan whistles.

“Damn!” Blip mumbles.

“Damn!” Goes Sonny.

“Damn!” Goes Dusty.

 _Damn._  Thinks Mike.

Fact: Ginny cleans up nice, no questions there. Heck, she’s pretty fucking hot even when she’s covered in dirt and grime wearing nothing but murderous rage on her face out on a baseball field.

(So, this shouldn’t be a surprise)

Fact: Mike doesn’t favour yellow.

(So, leave it to Ginny friggin’ Baker to wear a ridiculous, yellow, flouncy dress and have it be the hottest thing, since the sun.)

Fact: Mike is - somewhat keeping his shit together. Lord knows, the photogs have lost theirs.

(So, Mike stands there, trying to keep a check on his mouth so it won’t drop to the floor and reveal the sorry-face of the sexually aroused schmuck cowering behind the sharp suit and tie.)

 

 

The camera flash flares just leap of the gold sheen of her dress. They make her look radiant – surreal. The ironed hair pulled back into a sleek pony tail, the subtle makeup that accents her features, the confidence on her face – the way she tosses her chin around.

She’s really something to behold.

And then, Baker glances at him.

Mike tries to smile in appreciation but fails. He’s pretty fucking sure the way his eyebrows are pulled together it comes off as a scowl.

She rolls her eyes, like she was expecting it.

And then, she turns.

Not fully.

Just at an oblique angle - where he gets a view of her sinewy back and golden caramel skin. The long, ruffled stole cascades like a waterfall, draping her pitching side, giving a dainty softness to her broad, square-edged, muscular shoulders.  

She strikes a pose and tilts her body further, gives him an immaculate view of her shapely callipygian posterior, hugged so perfectly by that yellow buttery-smooth fabric that when she moves that perfectly chiselled bronze leg of hers, he can see the subtle wobble of a supple ass cheek.

And then she circles her shoulder out so her arm shifts away – a delicate, imperceptible action.

Intended for him.

Mike. Eats. His. Words.

(His eyes are fuckin’ ready to pop out of his face as well.)

There, between slant cut of the bodice, is the unmistakable, plump half-moon curve of the side of her perky, round breast peeking out.

She lifts her chin, looks away then glances in his direction, and fucking bats her eyelashes coyly once –  _at him_  - before she turns her chin away again. Her lips twitch and a smug lopsided-smirk lifts the corner of her mouth, that dimple appears in the centre of her cheek, mocking him.

And Mike just stands there and leers, his jaw steadily dropping – and his dick going berserk.

His phone buzzes – and he can honestly say he’s never been more grateful for a distraction.

_Ginny Baker: Happy birthday Old Man._

Fact: it is Mike’s birthday today.

And he forgot.

 

* * *

 

 

Fact: Things Ginny does  _not_  think about:

  1. Mike and that night at Boardner’s – the way his arm slipped lower, and the way he looked at her before he closed his eyes and leaned in. Because they’re teammates and - because Mike loves Rachel.
  2. Mike loves Rachel – she just - she doesn’t want to think about it
  3. Mike naked.



 

Another fact: Naked men do not phase Ginny. 

One of the peculiarities of human males is that they love roaming around in some state of undress. It’s not necessarily some display of masculine assets or any attempt to display virility - it’s just a things guys do. And Ginny spends a lot of time around guys.

(Heck, Ginny relates to it, herself – particularly on the rare days of perfect isolation, frolicking in the merits of braless freedom, lounging around doing nothing but eat popcorn, and watching TV.)

Mike Lawson was no different. In fact, of all the sweaty baseballers Ginny’s encountered, Mike Lawson is the least shy of them all.

The problem here is:

  1. everyone else’s stuff doesn’t impress Ginny as much, Mike’s body is the one she  _wants_  to look at.
  2. She wants to  _more than_  just look.



(Aesthetically portrayed body shoot that’s more evocative than revealing, aside -) she’s almost always walking in on Mike in some state of divestiture. Unbuckling his belt, peeling off his t-shirt, pulling off his socks, struggling with his jeans, buck naked freezing his bones in an ice bath. 

Either it’s his massive pectorals with the sparse patches of chest hair that greet her, or it’s his thick, muscular thighs, or it’s a view of his flab-kissed abs or it’s that freckled back. And, if fate really wants to get screw with Ginny’s poor sex-starved brain, she’ll get an eyeful of his back dimples, maybe a peek of his ass cleft or frequent glimpses of those arc-like hip grooves.

Another fact: things related to Mike’s body that she  _does_  think about in isolation (because she’s a woman with needs, hello?) but has  _not_  seen up close:

  1. Mike’s infamous manhood
  2. The hard, shapely buns that she slapped the first time they met.



 

But then, she sees them. Both. At once.

 

It all started on the day when Ginny checked her schedule and realized that the BET awards were on the same date as Mike’s birthday, throwing a spoke in her plan for conducting a surprise party for her catcher and captain. She was wandering around the clubhouse looking for Blip for advice. When she caught his voice, she followed it all the way PT room to a closed door, only to hear Mike’s voice as well.

“What the fuck is emotional cheating anyway?” Mike’s throaty growl reached her between a tell-tale chatter of teeth that suggested he was sitting in the ice bath. “What does that even mean?”

“Mike.” Blip sounded wary.

“How the hell is  _that_  worse than what she did to me? What was I supposed to do? Just take off – leave my rookie hanging to deal with that shitstorm of rehab and uncertainty all by herself?”

Ginny stopped in her tracks.

She heard a long-drawn sigh from Blip’s end.

“She’s my pitcher, for cryin’ out loud! And, she’s not just  _any_  rookie, or  _any_  pitcher! Rachel, of all people should understand what it means if Ginny didn’t make the roster this year!”

The second she heard ‘Rachel’, Ginny cringed with that unbearable irritation that made her want to stomp off and go ten miles on the hill without a warm-up. She almost spun on her heels. But, dejection like  _that_  - in  _Mike’s_  voice…

“I gave it everything this time, Blip. I even made it clear that I’d retire after the season – so, what more does she want?”

That was not news to her. Mike was upfront about his plans to hang up his cap, and Ginny had long ago accepted that he wanted to be with his wife (ex-wife, whatever) – the only woman he ever loved.

 

(Did it shock her when he told her? Yes.

Did she hate him for it? No.

For starters, she  _wanted_  Mike to be happy. At the very least, she  _owed_  it to Mike, to get out of the way of his happiness. 

Mike was the one who had her back throughout. The whole time after her arm injury after everyone disappeared from her life, he stuck by her side and saw her through.

Also, she  _wanted_  his relationship to work with Rachel because she wanted desperately to believe in the longevity of love – and marriage.

It was that phase when Ginny felt responsible for the turbulence of every important couple in her life. Blip and Evelyn were on a rocky patch, thanks to the can of worms her brother inadvertently opened. Mom announced she was marrying Kevin, dredging up an excruciating feeling of culpability of being the reason for the breakdown of her parent’s marital relationship.

She allowed herself three days to mourn and weep, got over it, willed herself to be happy for Mike’s sake – even pushed him in Rachel’s direction.

But, was it all for nothing?)

 

“Mike, it’s as simple as this,” Blip oddly sounded more annoyed than sympathetic. “Are you in love with Rachel or not?”

“Buddy, I’ve been going on and on about all the things I’ve given up for her and you’re still asking me that?”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

There was a long silence.

“I’m sorry, Mike.” Blip finally spoke, sounding about as sad as Mike did.

“No, it’s fine, man.” Mike’s mopey, dull voice followed, between shivering teeth. “Maybe Rachel’s right. She sure as hell deserves better than me.”

(Ginny disagreed, but the again she was biased.)

“What are you going to do now?” Blip asked.

“What I always do in a clusterfuck. Screw it up by doing something even more stupid.”

“Like what?”

“Well, Amelia  _is_  back!” Mike cackled, bitterly. “Maybe, if I’m lucky Baker will finally take a bat to my balls this time.”

Ginny rolled her eyes.

“What am I supposed to do?” Mike spat.

“What you are  _supposed_  to do, is put aside feelings you can’t have - for a woman you aren’t allowed to flirt with, let alone date –”

Ginny was confused, then.

_Is he that into Amelia? Why isn’t he allowed to flirt with or date Amelia?_

(It’s not like Ginny’s opinion stopped them the first time, right?)

Mike made a dismissive, ironic sound.

“Mike,” Blip’s voice bordered on a warning. “You step over that line…”

“Yeah, yeah…” He drawled. “I’ve already had that conversation with myself, buddy

Blip neither laughed nor did he sound amused. “Mike,” he repeated, quietly. “You can’t.”

_Can’t what? Screw Amelia?_

Ginny was conflicted about that. If the idea of Mike hooking up with her agent was disconcerting the first time, it was even more reprehensible, now. But – he was clearly hurting and Ginny owed it as a friend to step out of the way – again -  _if_  – (she wanted to gag)- Amelia -  _was_  what he wanted.

“Yeah.” Mike sighed.

“Mike.” Blip’s voice was more of a low warning, then. “You can’t.”

“Yeeaha!” Mike sounded annoyed. “I heard you the first time.”

Blip said nothing.

But there must have been something about what he  _wasn’t_  saying that had Mike burst out. “You think I don’t know, Blip?” Mike groaned. “You think I haven’t thought about how crazy it is? She’s not  _just_  my teammate or any other rookie on my team – she’s my pitcher!”

_What?_

“Mike.” Blip scolded.

_Whatwhatwhat?_

“I almost fucking ran to Cubs - didn’t I?” Mike continued. “Doesn’t that tell you anything about how fucked up this all is?”

( _Oh, dear god.)_

This conversation was about  _her_ ,

“So,  _that’s_  what that was about?” Blip sounded incredulous. “You’re not in high school, Mike. You a grown man. You are old enough to get a hold of your…” Blip trailed off.

 _Hold of what, Blip?_ Ginny wondered with growing impatientce.  _His dick? Raging hormones? A temporary infatuation? Animalistic sexual attraction?_

“Oh.” Blip said plainly, like something was dawning on him. “It’s more than that, isn’t it?”

Mike didn’t reply.

Ginny grabbed the wall. Her ears were ringing, she felt dizzy.

“I don’t know, man.” Mike’s voice was small. He sounded flustered, broken -  crushed. “I – it’s fucked up.”

Blip didn’t say anything.

She heard sloshing sounds. She wondered if it was from all the thawed ice clinking around in that tub or the raging breakers of confusion slashing around in her brain.

“Besides –!” Mike snorted bitterly, like it was an afterthought. “It’s not like she’s ever going to dump that billionaire-with-a-boat for a soon-to-be-retired washed up old fuck who’s never seen anything beyond the playoffs. That also –  _twice_  in his career!”

“Mike.” Blip sounded unsettled, even though he was speaking in instructive tones. “I’m not gonna ask you to admit it to yourself, and I sure as hell don’t wanna know what it is you’re  _not_  admitting.”

Mike made that ‘ _tsk_ ’ noise.

“If  _this_  is the level of crazy you’re at when you  _don’t_  admit it,” Blip stressed on each word, “I am terrified of what level of batshit you’ll rise to, if you do. So... _we_ are  _not_  going there. There's to be no admissions here. Some things are best left unresolved. You read me, Lawson?”

“I know!” Mike grumbled. 

“You can’t tell Ginny, you can’t let - ”

“Ginny Baker is off limits! Yes, I know!” Mike bit out, cutting Blip off.

Ginny squeezed her eyes shut.

“I don’t need that speech, from you Blip!” Mike roared. “I already gave it to myself.”

She should have left – the sloshing sounds were getting louder with a lot of grunting, groaning and audible shivers. Except, Ginny stood dazed, feeling a strange chill, even though it was Mike sitting in a tub of ice across the door.

“She is.” Blip said, in a tone that left no room for argument. “And  _you,_  better keep it together!”

She turned around, put one foot in front of the other, started to move away, hearing the last vestiges of Blip’s blunt unmasked promise. “Or you’ll have a lot worse to deal with than just the MLB’s fraternization policy.”

She managed a fair distance between herself and the room, almost made it around the corridor.

_Almost._

“Yo! Mami!” Livan strutted past her. “Lawson back there?”

Ginny mustered a toothless smile. She opened her mouth to say something about Mike being in the tub, but words refused to form thanks to the supreme mindfuck she was trapped in. She followed Livan with her eyes, tried to stop him by flailing her arms.

Cheeky fucker, he thought she was waving at him like she was one of his airhead groupies. He winked at her, flashed her his dimples, waved back at her, coolly swaggered across and opened the door to the room.

Just barged in like that. Just  _opened_  the door.

And there was Mike. Naked.

(In hindsight, if Ginny still hadn’t been reeling from the shock of what she’d overheard, she probably wouldn’t have been so out of it. She’d probably have had the sense to scamper off or maybe –  _not_  be there in the first place.)

Mike was standing up with his rear end facing her. Somewhere in the sounds of confusion and reprimand that were aimed at Duarte, Ginny was given an upfront view of that perfectly shelfed, gravity defying, taut, salubrious ass. She gaped at those sturdy, chiselled glutes that visibly clenched and relaxed with his movements.

Her mouth went dry and her chin sagged. Her chest felt like someone slugged a bat into her ribcage. Her heart –( which until then had been labouring slowly and heavily, reeling from the knowledge of what she just earwigged) – suddenly jumpstarted, to the point where she heard its thundering rhythm in her ears.

And if that wasn’t panic-attack inducing enough, Mike turned around scowling, snarling and bellowing curses at Livan for crashing his privacy without even as much as a knock –

(Gave  _her_  a full-frontal view, while he was at it)

_Holy. Fuck!_

Like, she was  _at least_  fifteen feet away and it was so – visible…

(It wasn’t  _inhumanly_  big. Maybe, it was all the rumours and the drunken girl-talk that had her drawing up a mental caricature of an exaggerated, comically humungous version. And, it’s not like she’d never been in this situation before, with others.

Though, she’d never felt the urge to cross the distance and touch it – with others.)

It was just so – Mike.

(Ginny couldn’t help it. Staring. She had eyes. And, he had  _that.)_

And it was  _his_  – so it made it all the more  _that._

(So, what if there were two other men standing there gaping at her, gawking at Mike’s penis like it was a friggin’ natural wonder.)

_Which, maybe it is - a little?_

_Nope. Not little. Never little._

_Shit. He can see me!_

“Baker.”

Ginny gulped, forcefully dragged her eyes to his face. His eyebrows were still puckered in a scowl. His beard was pulled together like he was pouting. He didn’t seem pissed off – or ashamed. He was merely crossing his arms, hugging his pecs. Hypothermic, trembling –

_His cock looks cold, too. D’you think they’d notice if you went over and warmed it up a little?_

“Yeah?” She squeaked.

The scowl stayed but he was otherwise unperturbed. (Which was surprising, given the mortification that Blip and  _even_   _Livan_  clearly felt on his behalf - or maybe on hers?)

“See something you like?”

_Yes._

Ginny’s been there before, (never quite been as stumped before, but definitely been in a situation like this, where -) she could gather her wits for a comeback. “Nope.” She shrugged, playing it cool.

(Who knew whether it was believable. She felt a flush on her cheeks that she’s certain was noticeable.)

“Nothing spectacular, actually.” She added.

The scowl softened as she spoke. He narrowed his eyes when she muttered the ‘nothing’.

“I know it’s impressive, but unless you’re planning to show me yours…” He drawled.

“It’s not that impressive.” She blurted, twisting her cottony mouth.

Mike’s face broke into a half-amused, half-daring smile that made her feel hot and giggly.

“You sure?” He baited.

(Of course, he didn’t believe her. She’s a terrible liar and that man can read her better than he can read, period.)

“Yeah – don’t worry. I’m sure it’s fine.” She returned, willing her legs to move, ignoring the sexy twinkle in those hazel-grey eyes. “I mean, the water  _is_  freezing, in your defence.” She managed.

Blip and Livan made nervous chuckling sounds. Mike – the smug, unabashed, self-assured fucker that he was – he threw his head back and guffawed.

 _It_  shook with him.

Ginny spun around, speed walked to her cubby, trying her level best to not to hide her hot face in her hands and scream.

 

They didn’t make it into a big deal, after. He was pretty blasé about it. Maybe it’s because he’s never self-conscious, or maybe because he was ignorant of the fact that she  _wasn’t_  across the hallway by accident.

Couple of inappropriate but forgettable dirty jokes thrown around the clubhouse, a sincere apology from her end, Mike shirked it off with a light slap on her back and it was done.

 

But then, Ginny lay awake at night – the remains of the day rebounding in her head.

 _“It’s more than that, isn’t it?”_ Blip had said.

More than what? More than what? More than what?

 

_“Mike, it’s as simple as this, are you in love with Rachel or not?” Blip had asked._

Why didn’t he say yes? Why didn’t he give Blip the heart-wrenching story about Rachel being the girl of his dreams, the love of his life, his soulmate and whatnot.  _The_  story that had Ginny’s insides twisting with an unrecognizable pain for weeks after she heard it.

 

_“I don’t need that speech, from you Blip. I already gave it to myself.”_

What speech? Why wasn’t she a party to a speech about her?

 

_“Ginny Baker is off limits! I know!”  Mike had said._

Off limits for what? Fucking? Friends with benefits? Co-workers screwing? Casual romancing?

 

She allowed herself to think of it, then - that night outside Boardner’s bar.

(The sharp ends of his whiskers brushing against her mouth. His breath on her face. His nose grazing against hers.)

_“You have an early flight.”_

_“Yeah.”_

 

She allowed herself to think of it, then – that Mike loved Rachel.

(There was neither a ‘no’ to the question that Blip had posed – but there wasn’t a ‘yes’ either.)

He loved Rachel.

Love- _d._

Past tense.

 

She allowed herself to think of - Mike, then - naked.

_“I know it’s impressive but unless you’re planning to show me yours…” He drawled._

She thought of the times they joked and teased, jovially threatening to sneak a peak of the other while showering or changing, or that time in San Francisco for the body shoot. She thought of the times she caught him staring at her cleavage, or her ass, or her midriff, or her neck (whatever is that about) or her lips.

Then she thought of the several other times when he protected her modesty - unobtrusively guarding the showers in the clubhouse in Tucson so she could bathe in peace, fending off lecherous creeps, turning his face away whenever she needed to adjust her uniform.

Fact: If there was one man she’d like to show hers – it’s Mike.

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

Things Mike doesn’t allow himself to think about:

  1. Ginny’s boobs.
  2. Ginny’s ass.
  3. Ginny’s boobs and ass in that dress.



Things Mike can’t stop thinking about:

  1. Ginny’s boobs
  2. Ginny’s ass
  3. Ginny’s boobs and ass in that dress.



 

Mike’s never been one for PDAs, but he’s never been averse to a simple hug.

But with Ginny Baker, nothing’s ever simple.

Especially hugs.

He freezes when she tackles him with unconcealed glee, wraps her arms around his shoulders and tucks her chin over the crook of his neck. He keeps his itchy, sweaty palms clapped to his side like he’s a mannequin.

“Chin up, birthday boy! Or maybe I should say beard up!” She giggles. (His body passively quakes with hers.) “You know you love surprises!”

No, he doesn’t.

(If he could form a thought, it would be: _Not when they involve you in that dress and a massive boner for me.)_

He really  _wants_  to slip his arms around her, feel the warmth of her cheek through his beard. He really wants to place a hand at the small of her back, move it lower. (Do a better retake of that night outside Boardner’s. Leave no scope for a phone to interrupt.)

But, he’s at a party.

Specifically,  _his_  party.

A surprise party that Baker organized for  _him_.

He is surprised and touched – really, he is (at least, if he could think straight, he would be).

There’s very little that escapes his knowledge in the Clubhouse, so Baker managing to pull this one out of the hat, it is quite amazing.  

And, lord knows, Baker doesn’t do things by halves.

He knows Ginny hates parties. He also knows that this is the first time she’s hosted one.

It's safe to presume that Ginny must have left logistics to Amelia's expertise. Her agent's hand is evident in many things: arrangements, coordination, design, security - especially the location (Mike’s a half-resident of LA. He knows that the waitlist on booking of this lucrative rooftop lounge is, at least a year.) 

But, there is far too much attention to detail for _everything_ to be solely Amelia’s handiwork. The music, the food, the drinks, the theme of the décor, the ambience, the fact that the venue overlooks the Dodger’s stadium – a very specific guest list.

Things. People. All so dear to Mike’s heart.  _Things -_ that Ginny knows well.

On any given Sunday, he’d be in grateful awe of her efforts.  _(Not this one, though. No sir_.) He knows it should count for at least a ‘Thank you, Baker, this was so thoughtful of you’. Except, he doesn’t really respond. Doesn’t even feel like it. He can't even come up with a half-assed thank you.

Today – right now – he’s not feeling it.  _(Nope.)_

Right now, Mike fucking Lawson is horny.

Right now, he’s standing around with no room to breathe in his pants and the object of his arousal wrapped around him, smushing her perfect tits against his chest.

Right now, he’s struggling to put some distance between his body and hers.

Right now, there’s a painfully obvious hard-on that’s threatening to make an exhibition of his dumbfuckery.

He expects an unhappy expression on her face when she pulls back. At the very least, Mike concedes, he deserves a slap on his face for being such an ungrateful bastard. (Heck, if it had been any other teammate behaving the same, he’d pull that SOB aside and teach him a lesson in proper manners.)

Except, Ginny’s more amused by his irritable frown than anything else.

She pushes away from him and sashays off – Mike wonders if he’s imagining that surplus swing of her hips or it’s just the way her ass moves when it’s not held in place by athletic leggings or her grossly unflattering baseball uniform pants.

“Mike.” Blip scolds. “She took  _a lot_  of effort to plan this.”

“Yeah.” He breathes.

“The least you can do is  _pretend_  that you’re grateful.”

“Yeah.”

“Where’s your head at man?”

_In my dick, buddy. Where’s yours?_

“Yeah.” is all he can offer.

Blip gives him a disapproving shake of the head. He walks away miffed, muttering through his teeth.

“Hi Mike!”

Mike turns to find Rachel standing there.

“What are you doing here?” He blurts.

Rachel smiles uncomfortably, steps forward and kisses him on the cheek. “Happy birthday.” She whispers.

He doesn’t feel it. (Right now, his chest is tingling at the memory of a soft bosom on a muscular body draped in yellow.)

When she draws back, she looks a little offended at his impassiveness.

“Ginny called me three weeks ago, told me she was planning this.” Rachel speaks. “I – we – hadn’t…”

_Hadn’t, yet, broken up. You hadn’t, yet, left me._

_Yet again._

“This was supposed to be at San Diego. At Petco, actually.” Rachel continues. “But, with the BET event today and everything, I guess they shifted it last minute to LA. Amelia called yesterday to reconfirm the RSVP.” Rachel rambles on, oblivious to his emotionlessness. “That’s when, I figured Ginny – didn’t know,” she grimaces, “about us. It would have been weird if I had said ‘no’.”

Mike stares at her.

“Mike – I’m sorry about everything.” She says. “All that I said about – you and her. I was…just angry. I know Ginny cares about you. Look at all this!" She points to their general surroundings. "I mean this is amazing.” She smiles at Mike. “I guess, I have to accept your friendship. I can see how important it is – to both of you. I guess – I overreacted.”

Ginny’s horsey laugh floats over the music, he follows it to where she is. She's chatting with Duarte, Yasmani Grandal and Clayton Kershaw. They’re all looking in his direction - and it seems as though they’re sharing a joke, or - maybe, a funny story. From the gestures Grandal’s making, Mike is positive that the current  _Dodger’s_  catcher is telling Ginny about the ingenious prank that Mike had played on him way back when Grandal was called up to the  _Padres_  back in ’12.

She’s laughing hard shaking her head, her ponytail flying from side to side.There’s delight in Ginny’s gaze when she looks at him. Pure, unadulterated affection.

Mike feels it. That  _thing_  inside his chest, that he doesn’t think about. That he he doesn't feel for Rachel, that he feels for Ginny more than he cares to admit.

“I know it’s unfair, but…” Rachel grimaces. “It’s hard for me to accept that you can just be friends with a woman.”

Mike tears his eyes away from Ginny and looks at his ex-wife.

“Can – we start over?”  Rachel grimaces.

 _The last time._  Mike decides, right then.  _That was the last time we broke up._

_No more._

But, Mike nods.

(Not because he accepts Rachel’s explanation or her offer.)

Laughing Ginny is like a magnet. His gaze is consistently drawn to her. Her glittering yellow dress adds to the beaming aura that is uniquely hers and he’s just mesmerized by it.

By her.

(And, she was nodding at him, sputtering with giggles. So, he nodded back, dumbly.)

“Fuck, this is going to be a long night.” Mike mutters, rubbing his face and smoothening his beard.

Rachel’s face shrivels. “What?” She snaps.

“Nothing.” He grumbles, not having it in him to placate his ex-wife.   _Just my pitcher. She’s prancing around looking like a friggin’ Venusian goddess and I’m just trying to keep my dick in check._

“What is up with you?” Rachel persists.

_What is up with me is that you are right, Rachel. Apparently, I can’t be friends with a woman._

_I’ve fallen for my pitcher._

  

* * *

 

 

Mike has taken to snubbing her with a vendetta-like precision.

And it’s blatantly obvious to anyone within five feet of them.

Blip and Sonny are ticked off. They were her co-schemers for this event, sharer the burden of all the care and toil that went into the execution. They keep hounding her and apologizing for Mike’s anti-social behaviour, constantly reassuring her that the party’s a huge success. She waves off their concern for her feelings.

Amelia goes a step further. “Did you two have a fight?”

Her question makes sense. Maybe Ginny from two weeks ago, would have taken offence at Mike’s behaviour.

(Ginny from two weeks ago, would have rejected that dress from the sheer amount of sideboob exposure. Ginny from two weeks ago wouldn’t be playing a tease, either. )

The way Ginny sees it, as long as he’s mingling with the other guests, she’s cool with it.

Also, whenever she glances at him, she catches him staring at her.

Ginny finds it hilarious, she does. The pained, discombobulated expression on his face every time she flutters her lashes. The confused, puppy-cute, almost helpless looks in his eyes, when she smiles at him.

It feels like an absurd victory.

(She recalls the bulge poking at her lower belly when she hugged him, the inconspicuous sheen of sweat on his face, the way his beard bobbed with hard swallows – how poor Mike kept drawing his body back.

That felt like an absurd victory, too.)

She dismisses Amelia’s query with the same nonchalance as she did Blip’s concern.

There are only two people who suss her out.

Livan, who's hanging out with her, makes a point to be vocal in criticizing Lawson’s behaviour, nonetheless he keeps eyeing her and Mike with intrigued suspicion.

Evelyn seeks her out at some point. She recounts Blip’s frustrated rant about his best bud’s rude recalcitrance and complete insensitivity to how much effort Ginny took for organizing this event. While Ginny prepares to brush off another bout of concern at Mike’s behaviour, Evelyn merely envelopes her in a death-grip and hisses in her ear. “I don’t know what you’re up to but I want details when you’re done –the explicit kind.”

 

Mike finally comes around, while Eliot’s showing her pictures posted on a shady sleazy gossip website’s live-tweet stream from the awards.

_Mike Lawson catching more of his pitcher’s balls at the BET awards?_

It’s a series of crass photos, all of them have Mike in her vicinity, with his gaze fixed on Ginny’s side. In fact there’s a stupid meme made of one with a dotted line connecting Mike’s line of sight to a sideboob shot.

“I’m sure he wasn’t really staring at your – um – you know.” Eliot attempts to assuage. “I’m pretty sure he wasn’t even looking there.”

 _God, I hope he was looking there._ Ginny wants to say.  _Or else, it’s gonna be super awkward later…_

“Amelia’s going to freak.” Eliot worries.

(Six months ago, Ginny would have freaked too.  _Been there, done that._ )

“Looking where?” Mike barks from behind them at the same time, startling them both. “Who was looking? At what?”

Eliot’s eyes widen in panic, he glances at her with alarm. 

Mike gives them his frumpiest pissy-face and for some reason Ginny wants to pull his cheeks. “What’s going on?” He demands.

“Nothing.”  Ginny says, smoothly, giving Eliot a reassuring wink and a headjerk indicating for him to take off.

But, the young Director of Social Media is too slow for the aging catcher of the San Diego  _Padres_.  Mike has already grabbed Eliot’s phone and is pawing at it, peering at the captioned pictures with squinty eyes.

When he glances up, tossing his head between her and Eliot – his face looks pale.

“It’s a camera trick.” Eliot mollifies, unconvincingly. “Probably caught it at an angle where it seems like you’re – ogling.”

Ginny snickers at the word ‘ogling’.

Mike hands the phone back to Eliot sluggishly, like he's in some horrified trance. Ginny gives the Eliot a pointed look. Thankfully he takes the hint and scurries off.

Mike opens his mouth once and closes it. “I – wasn’t…” He starts on an apologetic note and then screws his face up. “That website is shit!” He barks. “No one’s gonna see that anyway!”

Everyone will, but – Ginny doesn’t care. She has other things on her mind. She’s not going to let some stupid pictures ruin her night.

“Hey uh…Baker.” He sounds a little expressionless. He cups her elbow, taking her to the side of a pillar. “I’m sorry – I’ve been so…” He groans. “I guess, I’m not feeling like myself, today. I want you to know I appreciate all of this – I really do.”

“It’s cool.” Ginny pats his arm. “I figured you’d be disappointed at the lack of strippers.” She hisses through her teeth, stretching her mouth. “That’s where I draw the line.”

Mike blinks.

Ginny smirks.

His face breaks into a wide grin, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of his eyes, forehead furrows relaxing. 

Her pulse quickens and she feels the need for a sip of water. 

“Your boyfriend gonna take objection to those pictures?” Mike asks, looking around like he’s expecting Noah. “If you want, I’ll talk to him…I’ll explain.”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Mike’s head jerks back to her; his eyes are wide and his mouth is set in a grim line.

Ginny reckons that’s strike two. She had the first strike with the dress.

“You and Casey…?” He sputters.

“We were never, really, a thing.” Ginny sighs.

“Around the world boat rides, didn’t do it for ya?” He remarks, wryly. He’s not really teasing, Ginny notes.

“I went on his boat, sure” she nods and grimaces, “got seasick.”

Mike doesn’t look too sympathetic when he makes that indignant noise. “Could he even  _throw_  a ball?”

“Never got a chance to find out.” Ginny shrugs.

“Bet he couldn’t grow a full beard.” Mike teases, stroking his facial hair.

“Don’t push it.” She narrows her eyes.

Mike doesn’t smile but he’s not scowling either.

“Yeah. So uh…” He glances over her dress – his eyes stay a little longer at her breasts, darkening - before he brings his gaze up to her face. “I guess, I finally did eat my words, huh? You – look really nice. I mean that.”

“Thank you.” She nods. She slants her body to the side, leans an elbow out against the pillar, aware of the front panel lifting, exposing the side-curve of her breast. To the point where it sticks in his view.

“Not bad for a mascot audition, ah? You think I'll make a decent Big Bird?” She lifts her eyebrow.

Mike’s eyes snap up to hers, his beard twitches in that an adorable, mischievously cute way where he doesn’t smile fully, yet it’s there in his eyes - and his face goes pink – all the way to his ears.

It takes everything,  _not_  to drag him out right away and kiss him.

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Baker.” He retorts, jovially. “I was only joking!”

“I know you were.” She pulls her arm back to her body, steps forward, leaning close. He stiffens when her boob grazes his bicep. She places her mouth next to his ear. “And speaking of panties…” She whispers in the sexiest, slinkiest voice she can muster. “I’m not wearing any.”

Ginny waits.

Mike turns his head to look at her with a stupefied expression.

_Strrrike three. You’re out, Mike Lawson._

At this point – if anyone took a picture, there’d be no doubt as to what was transpiring. Their noses are practically touching.

He drops his eyes to her mouth and back up at her.

Her lips lift, slightly.

His moustache separates from the rest of his beard. She feels a ghost breath over her upper lip.

(It takes everything,  _not_  to close the distance.)

“Find me after the birthday cake.” She says, pulling back. Because the last thing she wants is for anyone to suspect what she’s been planning since the day she saw Mike Lawson buck naked.

 


	2. Flirt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Blow job. breast fucking. Dirt-ay!  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks to oddlyfamiliar for holding my hand through this one.  
> i don't think it would have seen the light of day if it hadn't been for her guidance and lovely inputs.  
> this by far is the toughest smut scene(s) i've done till date. it's bordering on dirty and i had palpitations after writing.  
> I really want to know what you think - even if it's too out there or unrealistic - let me know!
> 
> happy no pitch thursday guys.

He’s out of his fucking mind.

_“…And…speaking of panties…”_

(That erotic husky voice - thick, laden with want – silky, fluid.)

  _“…I’m not wearing any...”_

(Her eyes were darker, her pink lips looked poutier, her perfume felt noticeably stronger).

It feels like he’s stuck in a wet-dream. His dick hard, mind incoherent.

A miasma of arousal and confusion.

 

(It’s a wet dream _and_ a nightmare at the same time. There are – people - _around_ him.

Talking. _To_ him.)

 

_…speaking of panties…_

“You okay, Mike?” It sounds like Al.

_No, Skip._

“Yeah – I’m great, Skip. Never better.”

 

_… I’m not wearing any..._

“Are you happy, Mike?” Sounds like Buck.

_Ecstatic, euphoric. Not._

“Yep! This is great!”

_Panties…_

“You alright, Lawson?” That sounds like – his old buddy, an ex- _Padre_.

_Nope, buddy. Just this tentpole that I’m trying to hide._

“Sure man, glad you could make it.”

 

_…not wearing any..._

 “Mike, why aren’t you dancing?” Sounds like his agent.

_Dunno, man. Maybe ‘cause my blue balls keep getting in the way?_

“Awww – y’know I don’t dance, man!”

 

_Panties…not wearing any..._

“Are you unwell? You look like you’re gonna be sick.” Sounds like – Oscar.

_Probably, man. I thinks I have priapism. You know the one? The medical emergency where you have an irreversible hard-on and if you don’t get all that blood sucked out through a needle – you die?_

“Yeah, I’m a little – it’s a kinda hot in here, isn’t it?”

 

Mike snaps out of it at some point.

It was a dream, wasn’t it?

Ginny did _not_ say that to him.

It was all the blood rushing to his genitals the whole damn time, starving his randy brain of life-giving and sanity-endowing oxygen.

A hallucination. That’s all it was.

_Speaking of panties, I’m not wearing any._

There is _no_ way she said that.

 

Given the sexual activities he’s indulged in with Amelia, Mike never imagined that being accosted by Ginny’s agent and his onetime fuckbuddy would be _the_ final solution to jolt him out of a sex-haze.

His dick cowers surprisingly quick under the indignant accusatory look in her icy blue eyes (not to mention the firmed lips, and gnashing teeth for added emphasis).    

He makes the mistake of making conversation. “What’s with angry-face?”   

“ _This_ is my judgey-face.”

“Oh?”

She sticks those incriminating pictures in his view.

_Oh crap._

 “What. The fuck. Were you doing?” She growls. “How could they have possibly caught so many pictures of you – leering?”

“I wasn’t – leering.” His voice is too high-pitched for anyone to take him seriously.

 _Lies, lies, all lies!_ _I was totally leering like the creepy fuckin’ perv that I am._

“I wasn’t,” he clears his throat and levels his tone, “ _doing_ anything. I was – I don’t know what I was doing. I wasn’t looking at her!”

“This kind of picture!” Amelia waves a zoomed up shot of the meme, glaring at him with frustration. “Would be admissible - _in court_ \- for a sexual harassment lawsuit!”

_There is a small chance that Baker told me she’s not wearing panties. For real. What would that be admissible as?_

All Mike can say is: “Pffth!”

“ _Pffth_?” Amelia echoes. “Pffth?”

_Oh. So, that’s her angry face._

“Mike! This is going to be a bigger fiasco and all you got is ‘ _pffth’_? ” Amelia growls. “You hate feminist debates, right? Well you just signed yourself up for one! She’s the first female player in major league history. _You_ are her catcher! _You_ are her teammate! _You_ are her captain! Do _you_ have any idea how this looks?”

_I don’t know, Amelia, I was walking around with a boner the size of the One America Plaza about a minute ago for the first female player in major league history, how does that look?_

“What’s Ginny say?” Mike sighs, pinching his nose.

Amelia squeezes her eyes and lets out a breath.

Mike is intrigued. “Ginny isn’t worried about this, is she?”

“She’s asked me to file an injunction on the website _and_ sue for defamation if they don’t comply.”

“What? Why?”

“To protect you!” Amelia grinds her teeth. “You know how Ginny is, she’ll have your back.” Amelia answers. “Always.” She mutters as an addendum.

Deeply affected, he smiles.

“And I’d have it as well – if _every_ photograph of you and her,” she glances around and drops her voice, “ _wasn't_ one of you looking directly at her breasts! There are far too many for this to just be coincidence!” 

 _‘Well, in my defence, Baker’s breasts are very lookable’_ doesn’t seem quite the appropriate thing to say.

“Do you have a lawyer who’ll work with ours?” Amelia huffs, shaking her head with exasperation.

Mike feels sorry for her. He points her in the direction of his capable lawyer who's seen Mike through awkward situations like this before (crazy groupies, fake paternity suits, unauthorized dick pics). "That guy near the bar, he's hanging with my agent." 

Amelia stalks off with a toss of her head. “Oh! And Happy birthday, Mike!” She hisses caustically.

 

For a woman dressed like a flashlight in a private party in a relatively small lounge, Mike finds it alarmingly peculiar that Ginny is nowhere to be found. He frantically roams looking for her. When he doesn’t find her, he seeks out the next best option.

 

Blip Sanders does not look like he’s having fun. When Mike comes upon him, he’s received with disapproval-face.

Mike reckons it’s because it’s because of:

  1. He’s critical of Mike’s boorish behaviour.
  2. He may have seen the photographs.
  3. The highly inebriated missus dangling off his arm, getting frisky with her husband with no regard for the public nature of their environment.
  4. All of the above.



Blip yells before Mike gets a chance to speak. “It’s your birthday and you’re actin’ like somebody died!”

 _Well, there’s a chance that_ I’m _either dead or at least, half way there._

“Go easy on him Blip –!” Evelyn defends, latching onto Blip’s waist, swinging forward and backward like he’s a firepole.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, man?” Blip whines, reaching his hand out to steady her.

“Nothin’ man!” He protests.

_I mean, that might not have been a dream. My pitcher might seriously be naked under all that yellow.  Either that or she was yankin’ my chain._

“Poor boy looks like he needs to get some!” Evelyn cheeps, and starts laughing maniacally. “Maybe he will, soon.” Evelyn whistles, looking away.

Blip turns his head to disapproval-face the hell out of his wife. Evelyn pouts and starts running her hand over her husband’s tie with a drunken cajoling smile.

Mike whips his head about looking away from them and checking the crowd. He feels antsy and tired. “Have you seen Ginny?” Mike asks.

Evelyn stops pawing her husband and narrows her eyes at him. “Haven’t you?” She asks, pointedly, wiggling her eyebrows.

“What?” Blip looks at his wife

“What?” Mike frowns.

“What?” Evelyn straightens up, pursing her mouth impishly.

“Evie?” Blip drawls.

“Oh, I see her there!” Evelyn squeaks, pointing to the dance floor.

Mike turns his attention to the dance floor, almost shouts with relief when he spots that sparkling yellow jumping up and down among the merrily boogying throng of players and guests. She’s cheering, clapping, hooting and tooting with the dance crowd whenever the DJ calls.

And seeing Ginny dance is, as always, a source of enchantment.  Carefree, uninhibited, laughing - she’s a resplendent sight. Radiant, as the sunny colour of her dress. His frustration and apprehension miraculously withers away.

“I’m gonna get us some more margaritas.” Evelyn announces, sounding remarkably collected.

“No, I think you’ve had enough!” Blip stops her.

“Not for me, bae!” Evelyn titters. “It’s for Mike! He’s gonna need a _whole_ lot of them!”

Mike stares at his rookie while they squabble, fascinated by the hypnotizing movements of her body, the graceful shimmy of her glorious ass, the elegant twerk and roll of her hips. Duarte pulls her into what could be a salsa twirl, spins her in and out. She disengages from him and pirouettes around by herself in circles, her ponytail flapping around like a rotor blade.

She slows down to a halt when their eyes meet. Her larger, jollier, grin wanes to a smaller smile. The big happy dimples in her cheek shrink. Her face deadpans, maybe for a fraction of a second, before she breaks into shy – almost demure giggle. She ducks her chin, looks at him diffidently through her lashes - desire and playfulness shining through those big brown eyes.

As though, she’s mindful of him, aware of the unbearable yearning he feels.

As though…she feels the same.

 _It wasn’t a dream._ Mike looks on in wonderment.

His face relaxes, he feels a smile coming on.

There’s a forced severance of eye-contact when Evelyn bodies his side with her stumbling weight. “Woah!” He steadies her.

Blip makes a frustrated hiss, steps forward angrily to pull his wife off.

Evelyn grabs Mike by the face, yanks his face down to her height for a noisy kiss on his cheek. When he draws back he finds the tiny woman beaming at him with pride.

“Happy birthday Mike Lawson!” She chirps and then takes off, her husband running after her muttering something about ‘women and wild sides’.

Mike blinks in their wake for a minute, then turns his attention back to his rookie.

Ginny’s pulled back into the fray of dancers, but her head bobbles around, she’s peering around the people dancing with her, glancing towards him – like she wants to see his face, like she doesn’t want to dance anymore.

She _does_ want him.

_Where the fuck is that cake?_

 

 

“Mike!” 

“Rachel.” He doesn’t really look at her. He’s consumed by keeping his rookie in his direct visual.  Ginny stopped dancing. In fact, she’s moving away, disappearing further into the flailing bodies of the dance floor.

“I’m – gonna leave, now.”

“Sure.”

“Mike about –”

Mike exhales a loud groaning sigh, interrupting her. He rubs his eyebrows, scratches his beard, impatiently.

She looks a little flustered. She opens her mouth to continue speaking.

He decides he’s not up for this.

“Thanks for coming Rach. It means a lot. I mean that.” He pats her shoulder casually and follows Ginny.

His body glides like it’s out of his control, like - he’s captured in her spell, like she’s tugging him by some invisible harness.

He cuts across the floor, trailing after her, pretending to cheer his friends and teammates on. They’re dancing around like electrocuted chickens making a complete mockery of both dancing in general, and themselves. He waves at the cameras of those who are recording the shenanigans. He even smiles genuinely at Duarte, surprising the hell out of the poor Cuban _tonto_.

 

She heads out of the lounge into the empty vestibule that leads to the main door. He assumes she’s headed for the restroom at first. If he wasn’t so absorbed with how beautiful the defined muscles of her back were, how pretty the glow of her exposed bronze skin, he wouldn’t have noticed that her deltoids had drooped, or that her shoulder blades had winged out. Her ponytail jerks up, like she’s dropping her chin. She stops walking, and reaches her arm out to lean on the wall next the coatroom, letting out a long exhausted sigh .

Worry crosses his mind. (Maybe she came away for some space. Maybe she needs air. Maybe she’s having a panic attack?).

“Baker.”

Ginny snaps up and spins, her ponytail whorling around her neck and flopping over her collarbone.

Her eyes are shining and wet. They glisten like that when she’s exhausted (Mike knows).

She _had_ stepped away for a breather. The recognition of which has him backtrack a bit.

But then, her delectable mouth spreads into a smile and her dimples pop. (She is surprised to find him -but, it’s clear that his intrusion is not unwelcome.)

“Couldn’t wait for the cake, Old Man?” She teases sweetly.

The untenable hold on his sanity snaps.

Mike crosses the distance, grabs her elbow and drags her to the coatroom.

 

* * *

 

 

Ginny finds herself plummeted into darkness, pushed up against a door. A latch clicks to a lock.

His forehead knocks against hers, short puffs of air waft over her face. His breathing sounds loud, heavy - desperate. His hands bracket her waist, placed cautiously over the fabric. Ginny sucks in a breath, feels his thumb splaying upwards. She closes her eyes when his thumbnails trace the skin lined by the margins of her dress.

“Ginny…”  Her name sounds like plea. His voice is low, hoarse, throaty, urgent. “What are you doing?”

She squeaks and fumbles around for his face, clutches the mossy hair over his cheeks. “’M not doing anything.” She croaks, trying to trace his silhouette in the dark.

“Don’t tease me, Baker.” He whispers hoarsely, pushes his body forward, the weight of his longing shoved forcefully into her belly. “I’m not fucking around here,” he adds, sounding edgy and desperate. Ginny’s mouth parts.

Stolen of sight, everything other sense is heightened. His panting in her ears, the tickle of those whiskers down her jaw, a heady familiar scent that she’s always known as his but never noticed with quite as much alacrity as before.

Ginny smacks her head back on the door, arches her neck just as he ghosts his beard over her cheekbones.

“This is where you knee me in the balls or cry sexual harassment.” He murmurs, pressing his lips to the hollow of her cheek – right where her dimple resides.

Ginny would have laughed but he sounds earnest – so she hums, instead.

She’s jerked in some direction; cold concrete bites at her bare shoulder blades and her hands fly instantly to his shoulders. Mike shuffles around, still pressing his erection into her.

A light comes on and Ginny squints. She blinks away vivid spots in her eyes to find his. Golden hazel orbs with tiny back dots in the centre, straining under the brightness flooding the room. His gaze drops to her lips and in seconds – his pupils dilate. His irises morph into a bewitching shade of grey. 

He presses his nose into the side of hers, squeezes his eyes shut, digs his thumbs into the sides of her breasts and gasps softly, the hushed puff of air wafting around her mouth. The pressure of his thumbs into her flesh isn’t acute, but there’s an insistence to it -  as though he wants to feel her as briefly, as hurriedly as possible. She tightens her hold on his arms, claws her fingers into those burly biceps through the smooth, twilled fresco fabric of his jacket.

Ginny licks her lips and waits, lifting her eyes to watch his. His long eyelashes flicker, butterfly kisses staccato over the thin skin under her eyebrows.

They’re alone here, now – in this unattended, unused coatroom. No party guests, no teammates, no agents, no exes, no MLB, no masks, no barriers – no rules.

Just the rapacious desire in his eyes, reflecting the hunger in hers.

He holds her gaze, skirting his palm up above the cut of her dress on her pitching side, curls his long fingers over the rounded side of her breast, stubby fingernails scratching the bare skin gently - the briefest of stimuli evoking such an overpowering thrill.

Ginny’s eyebrows twitch involuntarily and she lets out a moan. His eyes go murkier suddenly. They turn a ravenous, colourless black that threatens to consume her by intensity alone. Ginny swallows and wets her lips, and his eyes snap to her mouth.

She releases his arms, wings her elbows out and flattens the back of her hands over the wall.

He crushes himself against her; her back lines the wall. He slides one hand down her left side, palming hard, pausing to squeeze the edge of her ass before moving down. A strong sensation follows his touch – Ginny feels branded, possessed. 

She writhes forward, lifting her thigh when he pinches and tugs up the bottom of her dress. She sucks air into her lungs as his warm palm slides between the apex of her thighs. She lets out a loud whine when his thick, rough fingers cover the moist, soggy, naked skin.

Mike’s eyes bulge.

“I’m not fucking around, either, Mike.” Ginny says, softly. She brushes her lips against his nose, throws her inhibitions away and widens her leg, his fingers slip deeper between the folds.

“Fuck, Ginny!” He rasps out.

He’s shaking his head, like he can’t believe what’s going on. 

“How long…?” He chokes out.

( _How long… have you wanted me this way?_

That’s what he wants to know.

He’s not asking her about tonight.)

She could make a joke about the poster on her wall. Cut the tension. Tip the balance of control that’s been taken out of her hand by his touch.

(She _could_.

But – she doesn’t want to.)

Ginny squeezes her thighs together. The glove-roughened edges of his open palm dig into the soft flesh of her inner thigh .Ginny fixates on the thin patches of grey sprinkled in his beard while his hands move.

His fingers outline the sensitive cleft. “Mmm.” Ginny sighs and rolls her head against the wall. She tilts her neck to the side and his face drops against the collar of the dress. He scrapes the length of her neck with his beard.

“You know – I have to agree with you…” She tries to joke, unhinged by his finger sorcery, “…about the…Oh!” He gropes the edge of her boob hard and crudely rubs the folds of her sex at the same time.

(... _about the beard_ , she wanted to say).

“How. Long?” He demands with a growl. Scruffy lips brush at Ginny's earlobe.

Her mouth goes dry at the stark authority in his voice, her lungs burn for air and her heart thrums rapidly.

“Too long, Mike” She gasps, shutting her eyes, giving into that maddening rage, arching her chin, leaning into him.

His chest expands against hers and his teeth graze over her skin.

Ginny bites back the whimper when he finds her stiff clit. She suppresses the gasp when he circles it. She’s unable to curb the roll of her pelvis when he rubs it relentlessly. A whine burgeons out through clenched teeth when he pushes the heel of his hand over the soft mound above, and she feels the pressure down to the bone. 

“Fuck!” He hisses, pressing rough, itchy, kisses up towards the angle of her jaw.

(If her brain were functioning, she would object to him ducking under her pitching arm.

The dancing, the heat of arousal, the nervous anticipation of what she had planned - she’s kinda sweaty and gross in her armpits.

But, that doesn’t faze Mike Lawson.

Nope, not one bit.)

He _licks_ a hot trail under her arm, down the crease of her pec, curling his tongue on the curve of her breast, all the way to the cut of the dress. She can hear him smack his mouth like he’s taking in the taste. He doesn’t jerk away repulsed or make any squeamish sounds. Instead, he does it again…

...and again.

Her nipples stiffen and chafe under the silken crepe. He pulls her to him, grabbing her by the flank with his free hand. Her body jolts when he insinuates his tongue under the margin of the dress. His blunt teeth and pointy ends of moustache-fur graze against the rounded edge. It feels like he’s trying to reach for her nipple. 

Ginny reaches for the hooks behind her neck, thinking to let the collar loose, but he shifts his palm up her ribcage – forces her to stay still with a gentle squeeze.

He traps a lump of flesh in his teeth in a firm but painless bite. His mouth is so warm, and the way he rolls his tongue and sucks over the little knoll he’s made is electrifying. Her cunt spasms, her clit feels hard, fat, and painful. She shivers, grabs clumps of his hair, rests her elbow on the crown of his head.

He massages her pussy with the whole of his palm, a finger stabs at her swollen clit and another traces the brim of her opening.

Ginny’s body lurches forward submissively, puppeteered by his attentions.  

(It’s occurs to Ginny, right then, that she had a plan.

It was a great plan. It was an empowering plan. A plan where she made the calls – and she gave the speeches _and_ decided how it was going to pan out because she was fed up of every one telling her what was right for her. A plan to have her captain at her mercy. A plan where she was in charge.

She doesn’t feel so in charge anymore.)

Ginny struggles to gain traction. She rests her pitching arm over her head, grabs his shoulder with the other hand and veers her abs against his bulging crotch hoping to leverage control in her favour.

But, Mike one-ups her, pushes his hips into her, grinds that erection into her belly.

“This wasn’t part of the plan.” She blurts stupidly, swallowing hard.

(If it weren’t for the occasional strained noises he made, she’d think him completely immune to her attempts.)

Ginny whines with frustration when he probes her cunt with his finger. She struggles to keep custody of her hip movements– at the very least.

(Fails, miserably.)

“What plan?” She feels his murmur against her boob. He’s nipping tiny kisses, follows it up with a swipe of his beard.

“I was – ” She swallows and whimpers when he sucks little mouthfuls of skin, little vacuum-draws that make her body tighten. “After the cake…” She pants, unable to string the words together. “Was supposed – ” She rolls her eyes feeling silly. “To – to – to throw -!”

Ginny feels her breast wobble with his little snigger. “Throw what?” He prods at her plum edge with the tip of his tongue.

“Umm…” She has no clue.

“Throw, where?” He prompts, breathing the words on her skin.

She growls a loud, mewling noise, when he prods deeper, hooking his finger, inside. Ginny’s lower body tightens abruptly.

“Where?” He persists, ducking out of the curtain of the ruffled panel.

His face is blurry around the edges (– or maybe it’s her hazy vision).

 “ _Ngaaah_!” She roars. “At you!

“Throw what at me?” He sounds pretty cool and collected for the given how solid that bump frottaging her tummy feels.

Ginny's head swims. “Myself.” She gasps, rolling her eyes shut. Her pitching arm sags down and she winces as a dull ache starts in her shoulder.

Mike straightens up suddenly. She muffles back the protest that flares in her throat when he detaches his mouth and inches his hips away. He adds another finger. A thumb starts toying around her clit. He drags his digits in and out, plunging them deeper with every thrust.

She grapples the wall behind her by both palms. Now that her body isn’t quite corralled by his anymore it gives her room move. Her calves were already cramping from the strain, she shifts her weight with an unladylike grunt, forces the dizziness away with a tight squeeze of her eyes. She arches her pelvis out, starts bearing down on his knuckles, relinquishing to that burning feeling he’s mystically extracting from _inside_ her body.

“Iwasgoingtothrowmyselatyou!” She squeaks. “ _After_ the cake!”

It's her last and final attempt to make known her intentions before she gives in and goes all out, fucking his thick, long fingers.

And suddenly he pulls out – like – right _before_ she’s about to orgasm.

Her knees buckle and Ginny’s half-expecting to be good friends with the floor the next instant.

But, she doesn’t slump entirely.

_What just happened?_

She blinks, wobbles up to her full height on her quivering, unbalanced pointy heels. It takes her a minute to realize that he’s holding her up with those catcher hands by the waist.

He’s staring at her, breathing hard. Ginny has to shake away that tizzy of fractal colours and bright flecks in her eyesight with a toss of her head.

“We can’t do this.” He pants.

_Oh god. Oh no._

She closes her eyes, feels a wave of disappointment and shame flood her, struggles to keep a check on how much of it shows.

And suddenly, he’s surrounding her. Ginny’s pulled away from the wall and swept up into his warm and cosy embrace. She opens her eyes, confused, just as he cups her cheek, angles her chin and nuzzles her nose.

His irises are golden-hazel, twinkling with sheepishness. “No!” He huffs a short laugh. “No! I didn’t mean it that way!” He breathes out quickly. “I mean – we can’t do this… _here_.”

“Why?” She asks – but really, she isn’t thinking. She’s looking at his lips, wondering why exactly it is that they haven’t really _kissed_ yet.

“C’mon Baker…” He whispers, looking deep into her eyes with all seriousness, his mouth hovering over hers.  “What is this place? Some shitty coat closet?” He breathes into her mouth, nudges forward, rubbing his lips against hers. Ginny opens her mouth, ready to close her eyes.

“This can’t be where we do this? I mean, come together –”

Ginny snaps her mouth shut and looks at him surprised. He’s got that cute, exasperated look. It's the face of nervousness and worry, when he’s too shy or afraid to admit it.

“I mean, not for - _our_ first time - Ginny.” He hesitates.  

_Come together?..._

_‘Our’ first time?..._

_He’s thought about ‘us’, like this?_ _How long has he thought about us like this?_

He tweaks her chin and tilts her face up when he sees her expression. “Baker, don’t tell me you don’t know how I feel about you?” He murmurs.

A tart, meaty scent hits her nose. Ginny glances down at the fingers curled under her chin, the same ones inside her body. Mike seems to comprehend, he pulls his hand back, wiping it against his shirt. She watches his actions mutely and then glances up at his face.

He looks so heartbreakingly sincere.  

Ginny skates her palms up, over the smooth fabric of his jacket, over his broad, sturdy shoulders. She loops her forearms around his neck. She leans in closer, feeling a lot steadier on her legs. She smiles shyly and tilts her chin up.

He twitches his face back (and, she nearly gripes with frustration). “I mean – yeah…I guess…” He shrugs. “I admit, it’s kinda hot and sexy – in a dirty sort of - way?

 _Ah, fuck it._ She rolls her weight on her toes.  

“And don’t get me wrong –” He yaps on, making those wide, matter-of-fact eyes, wrinkling his forehead and wagging his head around. “You. This. It’s a major turn on – but I mmfff!”  Ginny slams her mouth over his and shuts him up.

He remains impassive, caught by surprise at first. It doesn't take long. He coils one arm around her ass, grabs her ponytail with the other and tugs her head back till he can slant his mouth over. She licks into his mouth and moans with him, mashing her body against his.

She expects some taste of alcohol, finds nothing but the scorching heat and wetness of his mouth. 

(Should he get brownie points for wanting her when sober?

 _Fuck, yes._ )

She moans loud, allows him one lick into her mouth before she nips on his upper lip and tugs it, moustache, and all. He drives her back against the wall, keeps a firm grip on her pony tail, groping her ass. He bites down on her lower lip, growls into her mouth, devours it like it’s his personal property.

She feels it _all_ \- his desire, his need – everything. Through his mouth, his hands - through that hard cock poking into her crotch.

They break away, gasping heavily and flushed. Ginny’s lips feel swollen and bruised. 

“Unless…” He mumbles between large gulps of air, sounding a little freaked out and looking innocent at the same time. “It’s your thing?”

Ginny feels a whole surge of power, right then. She grabs him by the lapels of his jacket, tows him around, smashing him up against the wall.

He looks impressed. Ginny is too. (So what, if she bench-presses at about seventy - he _is_ bigger and bulkier than she is.)

Ginny gives him a cheeky, lopsided smirk and starts tugging his at his tie, leaves the ends hanging around his shirt collar. He mulls something over while she drags his shirttails out of his pants and unbuttons (– because, she _has_ to get her teeth on that yummy chest); she’s ready to rip those buttons off but struggles to maintain her composure on her trembling fingers (- because, she’s _not_ going to give his smug ass the satisfaction of knowing how easily he can incite her).   

“I mean, if it’s your thing, Rookie,” he shrugs, like he's oblivious to her frantic craving. “I’m totally down with it.”

Ginny looks up at him, flapping out his shirt, bunching his undervest high above his breastbone.

He stares back looking guilelessly impish (– apparently, a look he alone can pull).  

“You and your speeches, Old Man.” She husks, exaggerating an eyeroll.

He makes that infuriatingly smug, contemplative face and mocks a long sigh.  “But, I give great -”

Ginny flattens her forefinger on his mouth and shakes her head.

That adorable smile breaks, his eyes retreat under his plump cheeks.

Ginny replaces her finger with a soft, sloppy kiss. His eyes are relaxed when she breaks away. He looks delighted – almost childlike. Ginny giggles.

His eyes flutter shut when she splays her hands all over his torso. His skin is doughy, smooth – the muscles underneath are firm and hunky. She presses soft kisses over his pecs, under his rib cage, over the unseen six-pack, flattens her tongue just above his navel and slides it up all the way to his chest. He groans and guffaws at the same time, thumping his head back on the wall, tipping his chin up.

Ginny smiles as the gentle rattling of his body drums back against her face. She tastes little beads of sweat, feels his stomach twitch on the flat of her tongue when she licks him. She bites over his pecs, the tiny pits made by her teeth blanch and flush red, rapidly. She soothes them with her tongue, feels his body shiver with every touch. She kisses over the fine plush hair over his chest; moans with pleasure nibbling at his nipples gently, tongues over the delicate skin, the little nub awakens into the fat part of her tongue. Mike grunts and gently wraps one palm under her the base of her ponytail and the other other clasps her shoulder.

Ginny moves to the other one, sucking at it, mouthing the stiffening bud for a little, trailing her fingers up and down his flank and kissing her way down to his navel. She chews the tiny flap of skin and straightens up.

“So, the plan…” She pouts.

“What plan?” He murmurs, cupping the base of her skull, rubbing his pinky in the hollow at the top of her spine, watching her face with an absurd fondness that makes her want to blush.

“ _The_ plan.” She widens her eyes at him.

He gives her a sarcastic eyeroll.

“Simple.” She reaches for the hooks of the collar of her dress at the nape, brushing her fingers over his knuckles before unfastening it.  “Cut the cake, let you have your speech. I mean, it _is_ your birthday, you can’t not have a speech. And you can’t _not_ eat cake, right?”

Mike cocks his head at her making that grumpy, pointedly unamused, face.

“And then…” She crows. “If - you didn’t blow me off…”

“Because, that’s…gonna happen.” He snorts, sarcastically. “Me, a healthy guy with a functioning dick – blowing _you_ off.”

She ignores his witticism. “…I was going to show you mine.”

“Your what?” He tugs her closer, with a growing sneer, and a hand skirting around to massage her ass.

She yanks the collar and lets the bodice shimmy down, reaches behind to loosen the zip, allowing it flop over her waist.

Mike’s jaw drops.

(She always imagined she’d experience some degree of reluctance when she did this, but she’s surprised at how uninhibited she feels under his gaze.)

His face is hilarious. Cartoonishly wide eyes, glued to her naked breasts, his beard practically touching his chest, bobbing perceptibly with his dry swallows.

(If she had her phone she’d snap a pic and send it Amelia and Eliot with a caption: _THIS is Mike Lawson ogling.)_

While he’s busy rubbernecking, Ginny checks under her pitching arm. (The skin’s been a mite achy and raw since he’d mouthed it.) She winces at a whole palette of red and purple blemishes along the side of her breast.

When she looks at him, she finds he’s still gawking at her tits, she clucks her tongue. “I thought women flashed their boobs you all the time! C’mon!”

His mouth is still hanging open when he drags his eyes up to her face.

Ginny almost laughs aloud. He’s stupefied, even looks – intimidated. If the arm around her body hadn’t tightened, or the other one didn’t glide down from the back of her neck to her shoulder – she’d worry about him bolting.

“Ginny.” He croaks, gulping.

“Yes, Mike.”

“This is better than cake.” He says, softly, small and childlike. 

Ginny laughs and leans back. He lifts a forefinger, staring at her breasts with amazement, tapping at the tip of her nipple on her pitching side. His thick, long fingers curl over the shape, prodding gently at the inflamed skin along the lateral edges, thumb kneading in a figure of eight pattern at her innerboob. Ginny watches the turgid nipple harden at the slow circular motions of his fingertip.

She hums into the soft kisses he places down her chest.  She threads her fingers through his hair and scritches them through his scalp encouragingly. She worries about his knees when he half-squats to mouth her left breast. She leans into his mouth when the nipple disappears into it. Her cunt feels wetter, slick pools between her thighs.

Ginny doesn’t feel so amused any more. She’s overtaken by a sweltering necessity for more. She tries not to think about how good he is, how skilled he seems. She tries not to blush with embarrassment at how easily her body responds, how her cunt practically drools, how inexperienced she feels in the face of – all this.

He licks a long stripe over the slope of her breast and back down, swirling it over the shape of her nipple, looking up at her with darkened, hungry eyes. What he perceives on her face must please him because his eyes roll shut with overt pleasure when he repeats the action. He takes a chubby mouthful, sucking, and flicking his tongue over the tip. His moan reverberates over her skin. He releases with a loud smacking noise and grunt, and her breath hitches. He notices it; does it again till the breathy snags turn into gasps. He abrades his beard over the tender skin and she lets out a low growl.

He shifts his attention to the other breast. The difference in weight he applies to his actions is noticeable. He’s more cautious, almost reverent with it, gentler over the hickeys on the side. He pops his lips against the erect nipple, a self-satisfied expression shadowing his dilated eyes when Ginny jerks. He traces his tongue around the delicate skin of the contour of the nipple, watching her face. Ginny reaches for her groin over the dress, feeling a rush in her aching pussy.

He buries his face in the valley between, cups both breasts with his large palms and squishes them up against his cheeks. Ginny whimpers with pleasure.

“Ginny.” His muffled words echo into her skin. He presses kisses on the inner sides of both breasts, looks up at her like a supplicant. “Ginny.” He repeats.

“Mike.” She answers.

“You’re so beautiful, Gin.” He whispers, nuzzling his way up the centre along the length of her breastbone, pecking at the hollow of her neck.

Of all the people that have said it to her, Mike’s words sink in the deepest.

He cups her face and leans forward kissing her, tenderly.  

“Mmm.” Ginny pulls away.

He straightens up, wincing, and catching his back. Ginny slips her hand around through the open shirt, feels the knotty muscles and kneads it. He presses a soft kiss to her eyebrow. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve seen since Baseball,” he buzzes against her eyelids.

Any other guy would have professed some ingenious poetic simile that would have been as transitory in its intention as his affection. Any other girl would have been weirded out by his statement, probably taken offence and smacked him in the head.

But not Ginny.

(Ginny knows that there’s nothing Mike loves more than the game. That there’s nothing he regards more beautiful than Baseball.)

The sentiment he’s got in his eyes – it feels new and unencountered to her. She’s filled with a heady wave of passion and affection that she wants to express more than anything but shies away. Ginny nudges him back, instead; he obediently plasters himself against the wall. She nuzzles the soft hairless skin of the neck under his beard, just above his collarbone, reaching for his belt, unbuckling, unbuttoning, unzipping with a nimbleness that she’s amazed she owns. She gropes that massive tent in his boxers. His underwear is sodden – so much she wonders if he came in his pants.

They gasp together as her hand closes around it. She shoves the waistband down, as his thick, long, swollen pulsing cock leaps into her palm.

“Oh. My. God.” She marvels, looking down between them.

She glances up and Mike – well...

(Bashful is something she’d never peg Mike Lawson to be and here he is –  this sexy as fuck, uninhibited, self-assured man - and his face is turning pink. He gives her a half-smug, half-reticent smirk.)

She can’t resist teasing. “I’d say that’s more than a functioning dick.”

Mike slaps his palm over his face, sniggering. The colour of cheeks heighten more. His body shakes with laughter, and his cock quivers with it in her hand. Ginny wets her mouth as she jacks him off, slathering the rigid, warm shaft with his seeping precum. He pulls his hand off his eyes, peeking down and bucks his hips into her grip in a slow tempo.

Ginny kisses his cheek as she strokes him, watching the growing anticipation on his face. He wipes his palm over his forehead, pushing back his hair and combing it back. He’s twitchy, distracted, keeps glancing between her face and down at her hand.

(Ginny’s always been a bit of a geek when it came to preparing for a big game – and this felt like a pretty _big_ game, pun absolutely intended.

So, Ginny’s spent a great deal of time this past week reading up on blowjobs. It’s not that she’s never given one. It’s not that she finds it repulsive, either. But, she can’t honestly say she’s performed it with much enthusiasm; it’s always been a perfunctory act of foreplay. A deed -  that men liked and she was willing to oblige, done away with at the earliest, so she could chase after her pleasure.

But with Mike…)

She _wants_ to do it for Mike.

For herself. To enjoy him.

“Hey.” He calls to her.

Ginny glances up at him, realizes she’s been staring at his cock slipping in and out of the tight ring of her fist the whole time.

“You – don’t have to…” He starts to say and then breaks off grimacing. She feels his cock shudder and leak more at the same time.

_Yep._

She wants to suck his cock. And then some.

(She can’t help thinking about it: that other groupies and girlfriends that would have echoed her sentiment. Women, so much more well-versed with the act, and better at performing it. She can’t help thinking that this is something he might enjoy – and she's unpracticed, unskilled. That she is not be as experienced the others. It crosses her mind that Amelia would have done the same. She banishes the thought away and refuses to entertain the insecurity it evokes.)

 _This man,_ she tells herself,  _he wants you. He’s wanted you for a while_. _You're not some sexual conquest. Not some itch that needs to be scratched. You're real to him, important to him. He cares about you, feels something powerful for you. Significant enough that he'd run to Chicago. Significant enough that it fucked up a serious relationship. With his wife - former wife, whatever. A woman he loved._

She doesn’t need to know what it is that he feels. She _feels_ it in the intensity with which he looks at her.

Right now – _and_ always. On the field, off the field, when surrounded by a crowd and here, alone.

And, she feels the same – maybe more.

So, Ginny gathers her wits and some courage (– because she’s going to fucking own that beautiful muscle of throbbing flesh in her palm, and has no intention of letting him be touched by another woman again), releases him abruptly and then drops to her knees.

“Fuck! Baker! What are you…?” He hisses, looking at her mortified. “I didn’t mean a-! You don’t have to…”

“Why?”

“Rookie!”

“Captain?”

“Shit! Fuck!” He slaps over his eyes and slams his head back against the wall.

It’s like he’s afraid to look. And, Ginny understands he’s frightened of the image she presents. There’s a perverseness, almost indecent inequality to this idea, her  - in this subjugated role, him - looking down on her.

Except, he’s impatient, desperate, even anxious, almost like he’s about to burst out of his skin.

She may be on her knees in a proverbial sense but she’s the one in command here.

Ginny hooks her fingers into his pants and underwear, jerks it down in one swift swipe.

His thighs are like pillars of moulded muscle. The skin feels thicker than on his torso. She rakes her fingernails along the cuts of his quads. He tics all over with his cock wagging. She leans forward and presses tentative kisses under his navel, over the fat-smoothed contours of lower abs; moves to just above that triangular patch of glistening, clumpy, sandy-brown tufts of hair.

The swollen head of his dick lunges at her chest when she sucks the skin.

Ginny wraps a hand around his cock, strokes it gently while moving it out of the way, does the one thing she’s been hankering to do forever. She sticks her tongue into the crease that runs along his hipbone, along the groove under his obliques – all the way to the flank. The skin is baby-smooth and hairless and feels like silk under her tongue. She tastes sweat and whatever flavour it is that makes his skin uniquely his.

Mike makes a guttural noise and reaches for her face, thumbing her ear. She hums with pleasure, sucking, and biting the small flabby roll of skin on his flank before moving to the other side. By the time, she makes it to the far end, he’s reaching for her ponytail, coiling it around his palm.

She ducks down, bites at the woolly patch of hair over his inner thighs and trails her tongue up. Mike hisses and jerks forward, her ponytail gets twisted. He reaches down and pets her breast with the other hand.

Ginny wants to tell him she might not be as good at this. She fears this is something he likes and she won’t satisfy. She wants to apologize in advance.

(But, why fix what isn’t broke? He doesn’t seem in a fussy mood.) Those blown pupils carry a helpless yearning in their abysmal depths. That is not a guy just wanting a biological reprieve. His face looks pained and beseeching – and her looks at her like she carries the only solution for his ache. That is a prisoner pleading for release, a man caged by the weight of his arousal and the havoc of his emotions – _for her_. 

Ginny palms the full length of his cock, rubs her thumb around the ridged band of skin under the head. She circles the corrugation surrounding its girth with a small smile. He is as beautiful to hold as he is to look at. Thick, alive, formidable, and powerful – like him.

Mike groans and throws his head back. 

It doesn’t escape her that magnificent cock is going to be inside her, splitting her apart. It’s probably going to be uncomfortable, maybe even hurt – but god help her, she wants it – _all_ of it.

“I’ve – thought of this.” She says. “About us - this way.”

His breathing gets louder – more laboured. His eyes dart to hers. Something high pitched and throaty resonates from his panting mouth.

“Wh- what are you thinking?” She asks, uncertainly – feeling silly after the question is out. (In Ginny’s experience, men seldom think in general, let alone when aroused. And that _must_ be the dumbest question to ask.)

He's too fuddled to mock her. He swallows thickly, and she needs to strain to hear him. “Th-that’s…that’s your pitching hand,” he stammers.

Ginny looks at her fist and –

( _Hmm._ ) So, it is.

She doesn’t know what that means, or why it’s on his mind. All she knows is that he’s leaking copiously. At her mercy.

Control -  is literally in her pitching hand.

Ginny takes a deep breath and then opens her mouth, looking up at him. His mouth parts when hers does. She wets her mouth first and then darts her tongue across the flared head.

(Red-hot, not figuratively.)It's warmer, ruddier and damper than the rest of the velvety thick skin along the shaft.  His lower body shakes. “Gin…” he pleads.

Ginny cranes her neck around and places small, soft, soothing, kisses along his sticky, stiff length – from base to head, the thin skin of her lips picking up on the bulging veins.

Above her, Mike grunts and arches his back, thrusting his cock forwards.

When Ginny grabs the side of his hip for a brace, he catches her wrist and then tugs it around his body. Her fingers unfurl over his ass.

_Oh, that strong, hard, shapely ass._

Ginny gropes it, kneads it, sneers up at him. Mike snickers weakly, glancing down at her. She winks and smacks it gently, gets a louder chuckle. Ginny palms the taut skin (making a little note-to-self about spending more time in tactile admiration of Mike Lawson’s ass later, now that she has an all access pass) and then clasps its mass. She moistens her mouth and runs her tongue along his cock lightly, all the way to the tip. Mike hisses, tugging furiously at her hair.

_Wow._

It’s the throbbing weight of him over her tongue that does it for her.  Ginny feels her clit get harder, her cunt tingles. She breathes deeply and envelops the swollen head with her mouth. A salty, bitter taste fills her mouth. 

 _“Fuuuuuck!”_ He roars and jerks into her.

She feels it’s force – everywhere. From the frantic thrust into her mouth, to the vigour with which his glute clenches, in the spasm of his heavy cock encased by her lips. A spark thrums from her mouth, fanning all the way to her cheekbones.

Ginny moans and tightens her hold around his shaft, takes him as deep as her mouth allows, keeping her jaw loose, trying to breathe through her nose. She moans as his thickness stretches out her lips, and for some reason her lower belly tightens like it does when she’s about to orgasm, her inner thighs feel clammy. He yanks her hair hard.  Ginny pulls off with a pop, hissing. She barely had the presence to keep her teeth in check or else her jaw would have locked from the pain. 

“Shit! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he gasps, releasing her hair. 

Ginny looks up, licking away the bitter taste from her lips. She can’t see his face. All she sees is the beard at the bottom of his outstretched neck. His glutes spasm under her hand and his cock jerks towards her. He balls his hand into a fist and rams it in frustration against the wall with a harsh angry grunt. 

_Oh wow._

She releases him – reaches for his wrist. His big, sinewy, catcher hand – always ready to receive her throws, always waiting on the ball, always on her side. The hand of a friend and partner. She caresses along the outward edge of his fist where he butted it against the wall. Waits until he opens it.

He’s breathing heavily when he looks down at her. Ginny prompts him to grab her ponytail by moving his hand to the crown of her head. She smiles encouragingly and reaches for his cock again. He barks out a short laugh, grinning wide and shaking his head.

She  takes him in, moaning loud, deciding to go slower, because – he’s not only strong, he’s also hanging in there, by a thread. His cock is so slippery with slick, it moves fluidly between her lips.

He tugs her hair gently at first, allowing her bobbing head some freedom. As she sucks him off faster, his grip becomes tighter, vice-like and frankly, uncomfortable. Ginny pulls off to breathe, screws her closed fist down towards the base of his cock in half-rotations, looking up at him to check if he's okay.

He looks terrified. Like, he's afraid she’s going to stop or rebuke him.

That there - is a man wrecked. And, she holds him together.

“Ginny?” He asks in a small voice. 

She feels one fist urging her to continue, tightening the grasp on the ponytail. Another twitches by his side.

She gains a perverse, mischievous sense of control; feels even more emboldened. 

Ginny leans forward, curving her spine, and pressing her chest up against him, squishing her boobs along his skin. She grabs his cock and nestles it between her breasts, smirking at him impishly.

(Watching this in pornos, the idea seemed ridiculous and demeaning – but throw Mike Lawson into the picture and it’s illogically appealing and uplifting.)

His jaw sags, his tongue pushes at the back of his top teeth, a smile teases at the corners of his mouth. His free palm curls around the shape of her breast, his middle and ring fingers tease the under surface.

She sucks her bottom lip under her teeth, to curb the urge to blush. She grins roguishly, cushions his length in her cleavage, cups her breasts, pushes them inwards. She rolls her ribs in and out, slowly, fucking his cock with her breasts.

Mike gasps – looking about as astonished as she can get.

It’s – a hell of a task. Ginny’s not exactly voluptuous, surely not heavy enough to encircle him fully. Her boobs start hurting within seconds, her lats and her obliques cramp in minutes. But, Ginny is nothing, if not persistent and tenacious.

Mike thrusts back and forth, keeping a steady, painless grip on her ponytail – and he’s grinning, observing her intently.

He _likes_ it.

“That can’t be easy.” He manages to comment.

(And clearly, if he’s able to form words, it’s too pliant a grasp on his cock.)

“Guess I could be bigger.” She remarks with a shameless shrug, not feeling insecure in the slightest bit .

“You’re perfect.” He whispers, his eyes zoomed on the space in which his cockhead slips in and out.  

She smiles and puts more muscle into her actions.

“You’ll break your back.” He murmurs, after a few thrusting jerks.

“I’m really bendy.” She returns. “I stretch a lot, Old Man.”

“I know…” He makes a mocking sound, a dash of sarcasm taints the undertone of his voice. “I can hear you.”

“Huh?” Ginny heaves her diaphragm, pushing up her bossom at the same time, trying to mimic her floor push-ups, wringing her boobs to tighten her grip around his cock, jacking him off forcefully.

“Your humming?” He grunts. “C’mon Baker, your rendition of _Firework_ sounds like a constipated cat trying to kill itself while trying to take a dump.”

Ginny stills. Her jaw tips down in mock offense. “Did you just insult my humming?” She baits.

His eyes widen, like he’s suddenly aware of the precarious position he’s in. “Er –” He squawks. “Um, No?”

 _(So cute,_ she thinks taking in his expression, _kinda' like a scared puppy.)_

“Hmm.”  She narrows her eyes and throws him a deceptively innocent, baby smile, she looks down at the rosy head of his cock bopping in and out between her breasts.

“Baker…” He begs and cautions at the same time.

“Yes, Captain?” She ducks her chin but looks up, fluttering her lashes innocently.

“Fuck, you wanna kill me, don’t you?” He half-laughs, half-gasps.

She bows forward, shimmying so can push up a greater part of his length closer to her mouth. Ginny adjusts so that her breasts hug the base of his cock, she rolls her thumbs over her nipples knowing that he’s watching.

“Don’t be silly,” she chides, sweetly. “That would be – inconvenient.”

She gets better access to the suck the moist, pulsing head into her mouth. He lets out a nasty string of expletives that would make a sailor blush. Ginny keeps her breasts cupped in her hands, approximated around his girth, though easing the pressure on them. She blows the top of his cock with two short strokes. She takes him in deeper after that. Her chin digging into the top of her pushed up breasts.

He rips at her hair again, without any kindness or consideration for her scalp this time. It takes an effort to keep her jaw loose. He jerks his hips towards her furiously, the head pushing up against the roof of her mouth.

(And then, she _really_ gets down to business.)

She hums - loud.

_Happy birthday, to you._

_"_ Ginny!” He growls a loud, gravelly whisper. “W-wh-what the hell are you – ? Shit!”

Ginny pulls off to inhale air into her lungs. She abandons a breast and brushes the knuckles over the velvety-soft, fragile pouch of skin holding his balls.

His cock jumps angrily, like it’s got a mind of its own and it’s trying to reprimand her. Mike slams his hips backwards, like he’s trying to rein control of his self-governing dick.

She stumbles forward on her knees, unwittingly (almost, gets poked in the eyes).  She snorts bemusedly, scuffs the seam with a feather-light touch using her forefinger. His cock flinches again, small droplets smatter about.

Ginny feels dirty and slutty – and proud. She walks closer on her knees, takes him between her breasts again, sheathing his cock with her mouth.

 _Happy birthday, to you._ She hums the tune again. _Happy birthday, to you._

“Fuck. Fuck.”

She feels the vibrations from her mouth rebound of his skin. His cock shudders, it spurts a little and she uses her tongue to slather the release around the hot, swollen head. She suppresses her desire to gag as he thrusts vehemently and uncontrollably, hitting the back of her throat.

 _Happy birthday, dear Mike._ She manages with a higher pitch, and that means sucking in more air and hollowing out her cheeks. (So, what if he can’t hear his name).

“FuckFuckFuck! Ginny please!”

(Mike. Begging. 

A rush of blood hits her pussy – it throbs gently.

She’s dripping between her thighs.)

She detaches with a loud smack to breathe again, and draws him in…again.

“Ginny!” He grinds out. “Gi -stop it! Fuck!  I’m gonna cum – I’m gonna…! _Baker!_ ”

_Happy birthday, to you._

She prolongs the last syllable. He wrenches her ponytail, roots pulling at her scalp so hard, she releases everything (mouth, hands, breasts – everything) with a loud griping whine.

Mike grabs his dick in his massive hand and tightens his fist. Ginny watches his cock shiver with far too much exhilaration than she ought to have. She snaps her spine up, sticks her chest in its range.

“Come on my tits!” She whispers urgently, loosely encasing her wiry hand around his larger one.

“W-What?” He barks (except – his gruff voice more breath less sound). His chin cracks down and his watery, black-as-night eyes look ready to spring out.

Mike looks like he’s going to choke - to death.

Ginny looks up at him and grins wide, jerks her neck in a firm headnod. “Do it!” She orders.

He lets out a helpless whimper, squeezes his eyes, leans his head into the wall. Ginny feels him throttling the dense throbbing flesh of his cock, trying to the gauge the pressure he uses. She licks her lips with eagerness when he aims it at her a little lower than her chest.

She hears the strangled growl of her name when he plunges one long and hard thrust into his grip before he spurts.

She watches, spellbound. 

_Oh. My. God._

His viscous, lustrous, sloppy white release spilled all over her breasts.

Ginny laughs aloud, toppling down, landing with an ‘ooph!’ on her ass, the cold floor breaking her fall. She gasps like a dying goldfish, shocked at her own behaviour, looking down at his cum spattered all over her breasts.

 _I’m insane,_ she thinks.

(And she likes it.)

It appears he echoes her self-assessment, when she looks at him. He’s staring down at her, flabbergasted, mouth widened in a happy grimace.

 _(Yeah, he likes it, too._ )

 

He’s a mess.

(His legs braced apart, body anchored to the wall, his face puffy, pink, sweat gleaming off his forehead, eyes bloodshot, nostrils flaring, tongue sticking out, drawing in and huffing out large lungfuls of air, each wheeze sounds like he’s close to a heart-attack. His large cock resting flaccidly on that curly thicket, gossamer-thin threads of cum glinting.)  

An unravelled, completely wrecked, beautiful, magnificent mess.

Ginny leans on her elbows, feeling winded and weak but thoroughly pleased with the sight.

When the scarlet tint ebbs away from his face, Ginny scrambles around to rise. He pulls his eyebrows together, forehead puckering like he’s annoyed and screws his face in a scowl. Ginny, hasn’t a clue why he's so irked, but she’s unconcerned. She adores his frumpy glowers as much as his boyish grins.

His knees bend slightly, and with the one hand latched firmly to the wall for support, Mike sticks another hand out, cheeks puffing, his lips pursing and disappearing under that facial fur.

 _Such a marshmallow,_ she thinks, gripping his palm, and levering her weight up.

She stands up to her full height, steadying herself on the heeled pumps, steps back, squaring her shoulders, jutting out her chin, grinning wide. She feels taller, stronger, confident (- and yeah, pretty darned smug).

She straightens out the skirt of the dress, pulls up the bodice, carefully layering it over her front and hooking the collar’s clips behind her neck, daintily draping the ruffled pane on her pitching shoulder

Mike’s eyes flit over her actions, slowly transmuting to their natural hazel colour, filled with varying degrees of amusement and awe.

She walks up to him while securing the zip behind her back, acutely aware of his essence slowly drying all over her covered breasts.  She wipes the film of sweat glistening on his forehead and cheeks, letting the droplets disappear into his beard. She pushes him back by his shoulders, leans to gives him a slow, messy kiss that he returns, still breathing hard.

His eyelids are heavy when she pulls away. He looks at her through his lashes like he’s in a delirium.

“Find me after the cake, Old Man.” She says softly and surely, against his mouth, only the hoarseness of her voice gives her excitement away.

(Ginny’s buzzing. Her whole being overwrought with arousal. The sheer spectacle of his orgasm left her breathless and aching for more, yet she feels senselessly invincible at the same time – caught up in the throes of a sexual heat that galvanizes more than it disturbs.)

She glances over at him as she unlocks the door ready to step out after checking her dress for any major or revealing wardrobe malfunctions. He’s still frozen in that lewd position, his pants trapped around his ankles, ties hanging loose, lapels of the jacket and shirt spread apart, the undervest bunched over his chest. 

Silently following her movements. Gratifyingly gobsmacked.

He balks suddenly – as thought the realization of what’s on her mind dawns.

(She’s going to walk around like this. The incriminating evidence of this debaucherously raunchy, but satisfyingly sexy tryst - smattered all over her breasts, drying over her skin.

Hidden under her yellow dress – with only him and her in the know.)

“Happy Birthday, Mike.” She shrugs innocently, lips curling into a smug, naughty smirk.

She peeks around the vestibule and steps out, closing the door behind her. She waits, somewhat concerned for Mike’s privacy and his state of mind. She hears a sound from inside the room soon.

A sputter of shocked guffaws that turns to an incredulous roaring laughter.

Ginny smiles with indulgent satisfaction, and then heads to the restroom to fix herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: i tried to write this from Mike's POV - but it worked better with Ginny's.  
> Ginny Baker: I can go another  
> Mike Lawson: That's what she said.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> ^ me:


	3. Touch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fingerfucking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And some nice anon motivated me with some love, so whoever you are I thank ye.  
> Not too hard on the dirty....little fluff alert because I think we could all use some.

Mike – is a well-blowed man, in a cake-eating mood.

“Where have you been?”

“What now?” He snaps.

Amelia’s taken aback.

As she should be. Mike seldom displays callousness to women, especially exes. So he about-faces (with a forced smile that’s the size of the United States of ‘I don’t give a fuck’ that Amelia sees through).

He shakes out his damp collar and re-knots the necktie while he waits on her to either say what she wants to or stop giving him judgey-face.

“We were looking everywhere for you! Why’d you leave your phone with the bartender?”

Did he? Mike doesn’t recall a damn thing about pre-coatroom session of the night (except being pissy and walking around with a dick so large and so heavy it might have been a boneless third leg.)

She opens her mouth and closes it, her sharp eyes taper scanning his appearance.

(He had to wash his entire face in the men’s room; hair, beard and all.

It was a backbreaking feat. Literally. He had to stick his head under the self-regulating taps and emerged with a nasty crank in his back.)

“What happened to you?” She prods, observing his actions as he slicks back the damp mop on his head using his fingers as a comb.

Mike looks at Amelia.

(But, his brain dwells in that idyllic capsule where time and rules do not exist. Where sparkling yellow drapes caramel sweat-kissed skin. Where plum, perky, breasts add softness to a toned figure. Where husky cries in his ear give away all that repressed need. Where big dark eyes, with pupils blown deadly wide with lust crave for him. Where lovely rosy plump lips stretch around his dick in tandem, tracking her slender, flexible, roughened hand and that hot, moist mouth works its magic.)

“Nothing.” He shrugs. “Was feeling hot – felt like a shower.”

“Oh my god.” She whispers, her blue eyes widening. “You’ve had _sex_!”

Any woman who’s slept with him more than once would know he gets post-sex face – a tell-tale flush, and a smug smirk that stays for a while. So, no extra points to Amelia for stating the obvious.

Mike _ought to_ get embarrassed and defensive. But, he is too damned content to let any negativity in.

(He’s a mite grateful that Rachel already left because there’s no way he’d be able to hide it from her, either).

“How do you manage to get nookie at a private party like this?” Amelia hisses, looking around frantically – her head cogwheeling at every woman at the party. “With who? Where?” She whips her head back and rolls her eyes. “Was it one of your groupies?”

“Let’s just say she’s a self-invited guest at _my_ party."

"Who? How'd she get past security?"

“That – is none of your business!” Mike chirps, his smirk getting wider. "Hey! It's my birthday party and I get to fuck if I want to."

Amelia’s concerns are more pragmatic. “I hope there weren’t any cameras involved.”

"And no. No cameras involved.”

She huffs, shaking her head exasperatedly. “C’mon – it’s time for the cake.”

That has him wondering what excuse Baker came up with to explain her absence. “Wait!” He calls. “What’s Baker up to?”

“She was looking for you.”

“Was she now?” Mike says, intrigued as to how she managed to pull that one off.

“Yeah –” Amelia frowns, “can’t cut the cake without the birthday boy, can we?”

Mike sniggers happily.

Amelia looks piqued and exasperated.

“Yeah – I’m…!” He grins wide. “…just really excited about that cake.”

 

Apparently, there is something more conspicuous than a brilliant yellow dress. That artless, nonsensical noise she calls a laugh alerts him in her direction (and god help him, he will die a happy man if that’s the last sound he hears).

She looks like she’s fixed herself up a bit. Her hair is coiled into some intricately twisty bun. Her makeup may have faded but it doesn’t deter how beautiful she looks.

She _looks_ pretty happy – she _appears_ unperturbed.

Thing is, Mike knows Ginny’s body language to a microscopic precision.

She’s acting all composed and chatty but she’s also shifting her ass, and tensing her shoulders in a way that suggests that she’s scratchy between her thighs and the front of the dress is uncomfortably pasted to her skin. Her posture is rigid with the occasional tic – (and _now_ that he half- _knows_ her in a biblical sense _…_ a lot of seething behaviour and occasional pluckiness that Ginny displays make sense).

She’s horny, plain and simple. In dire need of sexual release.

Also, under the shimmering façade of that yellow dress, there’s nothing but bare skin,  _her_ cum dressing her pussy and _his_ clinging to her tits.

Mike is a gentleman. A well-blowed gentleman in a cake-eating mood. He owes one Ginny Baker at least one (if not several) orgasms. And a gentleman repays his debts at the earliest, right?

_Where the fuck is that cake?_

 

“Hey Lawson!” She greets him, cheerfully – as though she didn’t spend the better part of a half hour with his dick between her breasts and her mouth wrapped around it.

“Hello to you, too, Baker.” He grins. “Great job! Party’s rockin’!”

Ginny makes an amused smirk and lifts a glass of what is undoubtedly grape soda to her mouth. He doesn’t miss the way her eyes darken as she eyes his beard and hair.

Oscar, Blip and Al look nonplussed - Mike wonders if it's his appearance or sudden change in attitude.

“What’s with the wet look?” She asks, batting her eyelashes.

“Felt like a shower.” He nods to the top of Ginny’s head. “What’s with the new hairdo?”

“What?” She taps at her bun, after taking a sip. “Oh. It got all frizzy and messed up.” She gives him lopsided wince. “Must have been the dancing.”

“Must have been.” Mike mocks.

“That is quite the happy pill you took.” Blip says, quickly. His frown deepens. “Wanna tell us where you got it?”

Mike waits for Ginny to put that glass to her mouth before speaking. “Baker gave me something.” Mike shrugs. “Ask her.”

Her drink fizzles out of her mouth, and Ginny starts coughing.

Mike brings his back and thumps her back, feigning concern. “You okay there, Rook?”

“Yeah – yeah I’m good.” She sputters, widening her eyes at him with a pointed glare. He lets his hand linger on her exposed skin as long as he can, rubbing his thumb before he withdraws his hand.

“What did you give him?” Blip asks point blank, giving them both the gimlet eye.

“Yeah, what was it, Rookie?”  Mike looks at her, innocently. “Sure made all the difference!”

“Er…yeah.” Ginny says, shaking her head, baring her teeth and popping her dimples in a grimace that looks angry more than casual. “Tylenol…” She winces. “I think.”

“Tylenol?” Al asks, completely clueless. “Where’d you manage that?”

“Er…” Panic flashes momentarily on Ginny’s face.

“Oh!” Mike offers, waiting for Ginny to reach for that drink again – as he knows she will because she’s nervous. “She pulled it out of her dress!” Mike pipes up. “It was like a magic act, Skip!”

And there she goes again, coughing and sizzling, droplets of grape soda and spit flying about.

The men – being men - glance at Baker’s dress first, then at her in concern.

Mike thumps her back again. Ginny stumbles forward and recoils. She glowers at him without any attempt to mask her ire this time. He keeps his hand on her back for longer, this time letting it creep to the back of her waist.

“Er…yeah…” She says, tersely. “I uh – always keep one on hand for emergencies.”

“Yeaah!” He rumbles, grinning ear to ear. “It was an emergency, all right! Bad as blue balls!”

Ginny’s body stiffens.

“Mike!” Oscar scolds. Al palms his face and shakes his head. Blip firms his mouth in a thin line.

“Well…” She makes a mocking noise for all to hear. “I won’t be giving you any _more_ , that’s for sure.” She sings through clenched teeth.

Mike hugs her to his side, boisterously, “Oh, of course, you’ll give it to me, Rookie!” He grins at her sweetly, making puppy eyes and allowing his fingers to drum the side of her waist. “It is my birthday after all!”

Ginny stares at him with her mouth slowly parting.

Mike chuckles and releases her. “Thanks for the uh – Tylenol, Baker.” He shakes his head at her fondly and gives her a cheeky smirk. “I feel…positively _blown_ away!”

Ginny flinches. She pouts angrily and elbows him off, thumping his chest with the back of her hand like an angry child. Mike turns his attention to the confused men.

“Er…” Oscar starts, frowning at them both. “We were just talking about your plans to take up broadcasting after the season’s done.” He says.

Mike’s smile dwindles. Everything feels very quiet suddenly, regardless of the chatter around him of the booming music. 

Ginny’s ire evaporates from her expressive face and is replaced by a deadpan look. She glances away when Mike peeks at her. Blip, who up until then had been throwing quizzical scowls at Mike and Ginny’s behaviour, has a resigned expression but the disappointment is not masked. 

Al looks on with a kind understanding. Oscar is merely curious.

Mike clears his throat. “Oh, yeah – about that,” he pauses to sigh, “That was mainly for Rachel’s sake. We’re not together anymore.”

They all seemed bewildered about his relaxed admission. Oscar and Al’s surprise – he gets. Blip’s and Baker’s - he doesn’t. (Blip was in the know about Rachel. And he’s certain that his pitcher who held fidelity on a lofty, unyielding pedestal wouldn’t have made _that_ move tonight if she _didn’t_ know.)

“It’s all good.” Mike reassures, “At least, there are no regrets this time,” he shrugs, “retirement was for her sake as well – and now that she’s no longer in the picture…” he shakes his head, “…it doesn’t make sense.”

The faces around him soften. Blip’s face brightens though he doesn’t overtly smile. Al looks relieved and Oscar shows sympathetic acceptance. Ginny looks emotionless.

The Ginny he knows or would like to believe he knows would want him to hack it out in a game they loved for as long as physically possible. Then again, there’s parts to Ginny he didn’t know before this night. (The sultry seductress hidden under that hardcore gamer, for one.) Mike wonders if she would have preferred him to retire so it would give them a headstart on a ‘together’.

“I think…” He says, looking down at Oscar’s Italian loafers for some reason. “If I swallow my pride. Accept and treat my body like the crabby old grandpa it’s trying to be. Play a limited number of games. I’d say my knees still have… _about_ , two seasons total left in them – including this one. That gives me some more time to figure out what I wanna do after.”

Al’s face relaxes further into a smile, Oscar looks pensive.

“ _If_ – you guys _still_ want me around that is.” Mike says, looking at Blip and Oscar.

Then – he lets himself look directly at Ginny. Her face is expressionless but her eyes are watery.  “Besides – who else is gonna run behind your wild pitches?” He goads, but his voice barely has any bite. “Lord knows _Papi_ will make you walk to the backstop for the ball ‘cause he’s too _chido_ to fetch it himself.”

A smile shines in Ginny’s eyes. Mike is all emotions and relief when she twists her mouth with bogus annoyance, rolls her eyes and shoulders excessively. “Yeah, I mean, I guess…” She drawls with faked moroseness. “I _could_ tolerate your speeches and backhanded compliments for _maybe_ two more years.”

Blip claps Mike’s back loudly, grinning wide. “Guess we don’t need to get rid of the folding walkers and prune juice after all!”

Ginny giggles.  Al and Oscar chuckle.

“Har har.” Mike rolls his eyes.

“The team’ll be excited.” Blip beams. “I’d say that’s as good a motivation as any to up our efforts to win a championship…” Blip beams. “Maybe the World Series.”

They all smile at each other for a second. 

“If you’re not keen on full-time broadcasting after…” Oscar says, showing off his perfect thirty-twos. “There’s something we’d like to discuss with you. Let’s see how this season goes.”

Mike knows they’re considering an assistant manager position for him. If Mike is being honest, its more interesting than dissing hardworking players on TV and it would allow him to be a part of the team longer.

“So!” Mike claps his hand, hoping to lighten to mood. “You guys plan to keep me starvin’ all night or am I gonna get some cake?” He looks at Ginny.

“Yeah…I wonder why that’s taking so long.” Ginny looks in the direction of service deck. “Evie and Amelia were supposed to be in charge of it.”

“Oh.” Blip’s face falls. “Evie’s really not in the state to be in charge of anything. I left her with Butch’s wife.” Blip says. “Lemme check up on her.” He leaves. 

“I’ll go check on the cake.” Ginny moves.

“I’ll come with you.” Mike chirps, offer her his elbow.

Ginny frowns at his arm. “What? Why?”

He deliberately lets his eyes wander around her body once he’s confident that the other men aren’t looking at them. Her eyes darken when she notices.

“It’s my birthday, I’ll do what I want.” He says, making a face at her.

(Right now, he wants her moaning and writhing in his arms, desperate and wanton. At the brink of madness she had him teetering over.)

 

 

And that’s how they end up in a locked restroom with Mike grinding his hard-on between perfect ass-cheeks, trapping her front against the wash basin.

Her husky breathing reflects off the enclosed space – feels glassier, stereophonic – hot as fuck.

(Frankly, Mike could do with a bit of getting off himself, but he's got other priorities. What with him being a gentleman with debts to repay an’ all…)

Ginny’s arm winds up reaching for the back of his neck. She twists herself and opens her mouth for him. He licks her tongue, unhooks the collar but keeps the bodice upright by his arm tight over her chest, groping her breasts over the soft yellow crepe, feeling around for a nipple.

“More Tylenol?”  She gasps when he tweaks it.

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” He mumbles against her ear, and Ginny shudders, her fingers in his hair curl into a loose fist. Mike wonders if it’s his voice or is his sarcasm that gets her off. Makes him wonder what else he does inadvertently that works for her. He wouldn’t mind spending the whole season and then some working it out, if she’ll let him.

He trails his knuckles down the smooth skin of her back, reaching for the zipper. It extends all the way down the length of the dress, but Mike slugs it to the small of her back. 

“I have to check on the cake.” She protests when he slips his palm through the opened zip, brushes his hand into the dip in her back and moves it around her waist.

“Fuck the cake.” He mutters, rubbing his beard along the column of her neck, biting gently the along the blunt contour of muscle that runs from skull to shoulder.

She shivers again.

All he has to do is release the arm-hold on her chest and she’ll be naked waist-up. The thought makes him rub his crotch against her taut ass more vigorously.

“You feel that, Baker? You feel how hard I am for you, baby?” Her murmurs, worming his arm deeper, circling her frame, reaching under the front of her dress, stroking the lines of her abdominals; the slants along the obliques, the grooves of the six pack, the long crease running down her midline from the under her ribs. She clenches her fist. He feels the tug in his scalp.

His fingers dip into her navel along that line, she quivers when he sketches it out. He peppers kisses on her cheekbones while moving south to find that soft mound. The skin feels warmer, baby-soft, moister. Ginny moans, arches her back when he fondles it. She releases his head, and stretches both arms to grab the marble at first.

Her hands fly up to grab his forearm when he slips his fingers into the apex of her thighs.

“You’re wet, Rookie.” He murmurs, pressing his mouth to her ear, licking at the back of the ear, the stem of her earring poking into his lips. “So, so wet…so horny.”

He looks at the mirror and smirks. Ginny’s eyebrows are pulled together, her eyes are screwed shut, cheeks puffing, her beautiful boat shaped mouth is shaped in a loose ‘O’ – tiny affirmative moans escaping her rosy, swollen lips. She clings to his forearm like she’s hanging on for dear life.

He feels vindicated, protective, and smug at the same time.

He keeps his eye on her reflection and tilts his mouth closer her ear. “You’re wet for me, aren’t you?” He whispers. “You’ve been wet for me all along, haven’t you? Even before tonight?”

She nods submissively, reaches for her crotch, gropes over the moving shape of his wrist under the fabric and presses down. Mike feels her grip urging the back of his hand. She tamps down till he feels the unyielding bony surface pushing back at his fingers cushioned by the softness of skin and fat.

She spreads her thighs and his fingers slip down her middle. He teases at the seam of her folds and her hand flies back up to his forearm. Her fingers claw into his jacket sleeve.

“Thought it’d be fun to be a tease all night, Baker?” He taunts, wiggling his middle finger through. “This dress, no panties –? Thought it’d be fun to give your captain blue balls, did ya?”

Her mouth drops and a dry noise escape when he finds that slippery, bulbous fleshy bundle of nerves.

“Y-yeah…” She shakes. “D-Didn’t turn out so – bad.”

Ginny slams her ass back against him and starts grinding.  Mike glances up at the mirror and finds her staring at his reflection through cloudy eyes.

(Typical Baker, always trying to get the upper hand. He fucking loves it.)

“Nearly fuckin’ killed me with that stunt.” He scolds, trying to keep the scowl on his face while drawing circles over the hood of her clit, holding her gaze.

“I – I didn’t hear _you_ complaining.” She retorts, weakly.

“Only ‘cause payback’s more fun, Rookie.” He rumbles, pulling his hand out and swatting her rump.

She gasps. He smacks it again, rubbing the spot over the buttery-smooth fabric, liking the jiggle of her ass rebounding through the dress. She’s louder this time and more unnerved. She hisses with frustration, grabs at the top of the dress, tugs the trapped cloth out from under his arm.

“You _liked_ it, Captain.” She growls. The dress gives way. “And I got something to show for it.”

Mike’s arm falls in surprise.

Seeing her topless in the coatroom, was like a mirage – his eyes were fogged by arousal, desperation, and confusion. Seeing her now feels like an explosion of clarity.

He’s automatically attracted to her bare breasts in the mirror – round, firm, high-tipped. He eyes the pasty desiccated splotches over her tits, smeared her bronze skin in random patterns. It makes him feel stupidly proud.

The corners of her mouth spread, her dimples appear – and the distraction of her smile is enough for him to tear his eyes away from her boobs and appreciate the rest of her body.

He trails his fingers over her flank, gently tracing the curve of her waist till he meets the dress, hanging low over the flare of her hips. He pulls her gently towards him, presses a soft, revering kiss on her temple. When he opens his eyes, she’s staring at his reflection with curiosity.

He slips his arm under hers and cups the breast, admires the creamy soft skin with a brush of his fingers, it’s supple weight in his palm, rubs the pad of his forefinger around the darker paper-thin halo surrounding a hardened nipple. He moves his wrist, and watches the globe disappear under his palm alone with fingers to spare.

His large hand looks like a massive, uncouth paw groping her slender, lean, body. Mike looks at the other breast in the mirror. It looks lonely, neglected, the lovely nipple puckering under his gaze. He debates spinning her around to suck her tits but then they’d never make it out of here. He smirks goofily and pinches it with his other hand, rolls it around in his thumb. He feels her jerk slightly. She presses her spine into his chest.

When he raises his eyes, he finds Ginny watching his actions in the mirror, her pitching hand shoved under her dress. He can see its shape moving over her crotch.

Mike swallows hard as her face changes with the movements of her hand.

It’s the most erotic thing, watching her pleasure herself like that. Her eyes flick between her own reflection and his. Her shoulder judders more frantically when she’s looking at him.

He reaches down to hitch the skirt up the side of her thigh, the skin is smooth, thicker and firm. Their hands meet under the dress. He slides the hand down from her breast and hugs her waist, pulling her flush against him. He covers her hand with his, rides her slender fingers with his larger ones, keeps his fingertips loosely in contact with her nails.

Mike watches her quietly, his hand recording her actions inside the dress, their eyes locked in the mirror.

Ginny snakes her free arm up to thread her wiry fingers in his hair. Mike turns his head and kisses the belly of her bicep as it wraps around his face – so shapely and dainty to look at, toned and strong to the feel. 

“Look at you.” He whispers, moving to kiss her jaw. “You’re so beautiful.”

Colour heightens on her cheeks, a shy smile plays at her lips and her eyelids flutter coyly. Mike feels like fuckin’ champ for no reason.

He drops his head into her shoulder, takes in her scent, closes his eyes, and tracks her fingers as she touches herself. He slips his fingers in the spaces between hers, adds his touch to hers, tries to simulate the weight and pressure she applies. He holds her tight as she jerks erratically, her precious ass bounding against the bulge straining against his fly.

“Need a little help there, Rookie?” He asks, after a few minutes.

“Think you’d to a better job, Captain?” She returns, and he’d believe her feigned bossiness had it not been for the tremor in her voice.

“I always do a better job.” He murmurs, ghosting his mouth over her face. “There’s a reason I’m the fuckin’ Captain of the team.”

Ginny tilts her head to him; her eyes fly open. He gasps at the sight of her eyes. They’re unimaginably beautiful, transparent in lust. Her irises are almost black, pupils are blown wide – the whites are wet, shiny. Her eyelids look heavy. 

“Yeah?” She whispers in a small, voice. “Show me?”

His dick gets painful when that gravelly timbre in her voice hits him. He fuses his mouth over hers, coaxes his tongue in and kisses her as he takes charge. He teases her tongue with the same tempo as which he fiddles with her pussy. Slow – sloppy and gentle. She rests the back of her head on his shoulder, cranes her neck to give him better access, sucking his tongue. The moan into his mouth when he slips his middle finger into her body does something to his brain, makes it impossible for him to think.

He wonders if she was this tight the last time they did this, or maybe he was just too mindfucked to take note. There’s a small give to her cunt when he insinuates his finger. Her moan sounds painful, and she chews on his lower lip and keeps licking at his tongue, like she’s trying to distract herself. Her body sucks him in once he nudges past the resistance and she whimpers loud, still trying to suck his tongue. His breathing hitches, his finger stays snug inside the tight, humid hold of her cunt. He breaks away from her mouth, breathing hard, dazzled by how amazing she feels.

“Shit, you’re so tight, Gin.” He mumbles.

She moans again, curving her spine against his front like a cat. He wills his wrist to go easy, burying his nose in her shoulder, tries to focus on working her blindly. He tips their bodies forward and Ginny reaches a free hand to grab the basin. He moves his knuckle in a short tapping rhythm. She exhales with matching sighs.  

“Should – I…um…” She asks, all traces of humour and brattiness gone from her voice. “Shall I take it off?”

He assumes she means the dress.

“I’ll be taking it off.” He all but growls.

“Cranky.” She rasps with a short, amused laugh. Mike glances at her face in the mirror and finds it screwed in concentration. He adds his forefinger slowly, hooking it to the hilt. She groans and writhes against him. He steadies her with an arm wound around her waist.

“I am your, Captain.” He grumbles. “I’ll decide when it comes off.” His mouth runs dry when he feels her cunt clench around his fingers. He changes pace to long, languid pumps.

“D’you think about that, Gin?” He whispers, curious. “About me – about your _Captain_? Inside you like this?”

Like some sort of magic trigger, he feels her cramp around him in response. In the mirror, Ginny bites her lower lip.

_Fuck._

“Oh,” he notes, “you do think about it.” Her hand drapes over his – like she’s trying to make sense of his actions. He reaches a thumb back to strum her clit.

She jerks.

“Mike.” She pleads.

“What do you want me to do to you, baby?” He murmurs, ghosting his mouth over her ear.

She shivers all over first. “Everything Mike.” She cries hoarsely, snapping forward.

Mike lugs her back, forces her straight. “You think about me fucking you?”

There’s not even a modicum of willfulness. “Yes!” She gasps, her eyes squeezed so tight that Mike feels her desperation in _his_ eye-sockets.

“You think about your Captain's dick, Baker?” He says, slowly, kissing his ear, and her cheekbone.

Ginny body contracts again. She tilts her head up. Lust-blown eyes open for him in the mirror, her chin sticks out – ten different types of moxie flash over her reflection.

_Fuck._

“Yes.” She says. Her voice sounds so normal, so in command, her gaze piercing right through to his heart. Mike feels like he’s the one being fucked here.

“Do you think about me fucking you hard and fast?” He moves his fingers faster – but he’s really just being competitive, trying to assert his dominance.

Also, he’s at war with his desire, struggling between the urge to watch her come and the desire to take her a little further.

“Yes!” She whimpers and drops her head, helpless. It feels like a tiny victory.

“Or do you prefer it nice and slow?” He dampens the pace.

She half-whines, half-growls at the same time, and lunges forward.

“Yes!” She cries.

He pauses his actions. She growls and starts thrusting her pelvis.

“Up.” He bites out.

She shimmies her lower body but doesn’t comply.

“Up, Rookie!” He orders.

Mike can feel the force she applies all over in her toned body to oblige.

And fuck, if it isn’t the hottest thing seeing her work for this. 

“Look at yourself.” He demands.

Her eyes fly open when he grinds the heel of his palm over her clit. He twists his fingers inside and Ginny rolls her hips down instantly.

She’s gasping with wide, bulging, eyes - her puffy mouth looks dry around the corners.

He drags the forearm bracing her waist upwards till her breasts are propped up by his hold.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to take my dick?” He demands and then adds his ring finger to make his point. “’Cause it’s gonna hurt, Rookie and I’m no gentle fuck.”

Ginny’s face contorts and her arms flail. Mike keeps her steady by holding her tight, watching her readjust – but fuck, if it isn’t equal parts painful and exciting to watch her writhe like that.

“I – I – I-” She stutters and then groans loud. Her inner muscles flutter around his fingers, Mike watches her face go blank suddenly. He feels something hot and fluid running between his knuckles.

Did she just come?

Mike looks down the plane of her cheek at her face and then back at her reflection. Her eyes flutter open, head sagged against him, looking down at him through hooded eyes.

There she is - all guts, all fight, all heart – all Ginny Baker.

“What else you got?” She breathes.

He chuckles when that big, daring grin spreads on her face.

“I’m not done, Rookie.” He warns.

“Gosh. I hope not.” She retorts, her throat bobbing hard as she swallows.

His dick leaks, too eagerly.

“You ready to come, again?” He murmurs.

And suddenly all her audacity is gone. Relief floods her face.  “Yes!” She wheezes. Her voice is strained and almost inaudible. “Yes, yes, yes – Mike please!”

“Fine by me.” He sighs and starts thrusting all three fingers – but keeps his actions slow, and gentle, mindful that she’s hypersensitive. He memorizes the cramp of her cunt, the intensity of her gasps in her ear, the fluid changes of her expressive face. Pain, pleasure, determination, pleading – all flaring around in varying degrees.  

“God, you’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, when he feels her spasm. He catches her chin and shakes it till she opens her eyes. “Look at yourself…” He kisses her ear.

She doesn’t – and Mike knows she can’t. She consumed with chasing after her release. He sees it in the vigour with which she fucks his fingers, in the bounce of her breasts over his arms, in the desperate look on her face.

“For me, sweetheart.” He begs, meekly. “Look at yourself for me. I want you to see yourself when you come.”

He reaches for that spot inside and presses it like he would a button. He waits for her to opens her eyes, which she does dopey and slow; then, he massages it, stimulating her clit at the same time.

The face she makes blows his mind.

“That’s it Rookie…” He soothes softly. “I got you. I got you. Come, baby. Come for me, Ginny.”

And just like that she lets out a strangled, husky gasp, moans loud and slumps boneless. Mike closes his eyes savouring the choke of her cunt around his knuckles before it pulses loose – her sweet release pooling into his hand.

 

“The Cake.”

It’s literally all she says.

She eyes him, mutely, sitting over the edge of the basin, eyes on his actions.

He licks her citrusy, salty-sweet taste off his fingers. “You taste better than cake.” He grins.

She doesn’t smile. Just keeps staring at him like she’s in a stupor. Mike reckons she’s still out of it.

To say his boxers are a mess would be an understatement. Mike uses a cool water-sogged hand towel to clean himself up and ease the pressure on neglected erection. As much as he’d like to tend to its needs, there’s a goddamn party they both have to get back to (which she took great care and effort to see through) and it’s a matter of time before their luck runs out and someone discovers them.

When he’s done with himself, he moistens a fresh hand towel with warm water and pushes it between her legs. She moves passively, lets him wipe her down. She winces when he dabs over her swollen sex, shifting obediently to give him room. It makes him feel a little guilty about pushing her like that.

He wets it again and reaches for her chest, wipes off the congealed splodges of their coatroom stunt.

She looks like she’s confused about why he’s doing that.

“As sexy as this is.” He offers, gently. “It can’t be comfortable for you.”

She doesn’t smile but doesn’t push him off, either. Ginny’s deadpan expression finally changes to a frown when he’s done. She reaches for her dress and pulls it up to her neck. Mike helps her fix the collar at the nape.

“As long as you stay on the team, I can’t be with you.” She says, sullenly.

Apparently, it’s just occurred to her.

Mike helps her hop off the basin. He helps her straighten her dress, nudging the skirt in place, pulling the zipper up while she turns around and starts fixing her hair. There’s something homely and endearing about seeing their combined reflections in the mirror. (So he’s a fuckin’ sap, sue him.)

Of course, she’s still frowning. He’s about to crack a joke about sexually transmitted crankiness but decides against it.

“Yeah.” He nods with a straight face, hugging her from behind. “Not with your clothes on, at least.”

Much to his relief, she breaks into a grin and blushes, looking away.

“Are you?” He asks her in all seriousness, when she glances back at his reflection. “Are you okay with this? Me – sticking around on the team.”

Ginny beams wide. “Yeah – of course! It makes me so happy, Mike!” She spins around in his embrace. “I can’t tell you how happy!” She motions between them. “I mean – yeah…this would be complicated. I mean it’s not like we can date or anything,” She shrugs happily. “I don’t date ballplayers, remember?”

His stomach drops and it must show on his face. Ginny bursts into cackle and throws her arm around him. Mike’s a little too fuddled to respond to the chaste peck on the lips she plants on his mouth.

“I’m joking, you big dummy!” She gives him and eskimo kiss.

He laughs when he sees the hilarity in her eyes. She reaches across and nips his ear. “Not that I had a problem with being fuckbuddies with you.” She murmurs.

His dick twitches in anticipation.  Mike mentally wills it to calm the fuck down.

“So, we’re fuckbuddies now?” He teases.

“We’re gonna have to be.” Ginny pouts. She runs her hands over his jacket and patting down the creases and fixing his tie. “I don’t think I’m gonna be able to keep my hands off all my favourite catcher– hey!” She sticks her finger at the tip of his nose, when he puffs up ready to gloat. “Don’t! Don’t you dare laugh!” She silences him with a stern expression and big eyes - and it’s so cute, he wants to bundle her into his jacket and never let her out.

She locks her arms around his neck and hugs him tight. Mike sighs loud. “It’s gonna be tough…” She lets out a woeful sigh, drawing back.

“Tell you what.” Mike says, smiling at her. The sudden flash of dimples on Ginny’s cheeks tells him she likes seeing him smile. “Today’s my birthday – and it’s already going pretty fucking fine, if you ask me.”

She flashes her white teeth and pink gums at him with sheer joy. 

“So, why ruin it?” He shrugs. “Let’s figure this shit later.” He says, knocking his head against hers, bopping her nose. “We’ve still got tonight. I wouldn’t want to throw a spoke in all the post-cake plans, right?”

She shrugs, as though that’s not a primary concern. “Yeah, sure. It’s not like I was gonna be able to walk around the clubhouse wearing your jersey even if you did decide to retire this year – ” She widens her eyes like it’s supposed to reinforce the point. “Even if I wanted to.”

“How about if I walked around wearing yours?” He smiles.

She rewards him with an unbridled horsey laugh, covering her mouth.

Yep. He’s hands down, head over heels, yell it from the rooftops, sappily, in love with Ginny Baker.  

_Happiest fucking birthday indeed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Reviews are the reason I pull these kind of heinous acts.  
> Oh i upped the chapter count. Unless we're all fed up of my repetition of the word 'husky' and 'gasp'


	4. Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good ol' fashion fuckin'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your reviews. Figured I'd thank you with an update. Thank you anon for sharing your perspectives on Mike and Ginny's relationship. I hope you like this chapter. 
> 
> I've stolen words from my favorite writers: oddlyfamiliar, elegantstupidity, mockinjayne12 and bawsanity. Please forgive me for a lack of industriousness.

“Stop laughing.”

“It’s a dick.”

“Seriously! Stop laughing!”

“It’s a dick!”

“How can you laugh about this?”

“ _Because_ –! It’s a dick!”

“Mike! Stop. Laughing!”

“Amelia! My. Birthday Cake. Is a penis!”

 

Things that are clear to Ginny, now that they’ve discovered what the special made-to-order birthday cake from the most lucrative, most expensive designer bakery in LA looks like:

  1. Amelia is not having a good night. First ogle-gate, then this.
  2. What was in fact going on with the cake and why it was taking so long.
  3. Why no one was suspicious of Ginny and Mike’s absences.



Amelia and Ginny are the only two people unable to see the humour in it.

Evelyn’s is in side-splitting hysterics, hooting like a cartoon character, laughing herself into sobriety. Blip was so tickled he ran to fetch the guys.

Mike is, well – to say he’s amused would be an understatement. He’s just guffawing like it doesn’t bother him that his birthday cake is a three-tier sized fondant human phallus complete with buttercream testicles and a chocolate shavings man bush.

Ginny blows a raspberry in disappointment, feeling terrible for Amelia. Things were going so well. Everyone was having fun.  Everyone gave Ginny credit but Ginny only had Amelia to thank. Her agent even managed to supervise the filing of the emergency injunction on the gossip website successfully while taking care of the event. And then this happened.

In fact, if Mike hadn’t taken it so positively, Ginny might have been close to tears herself.

“Hey! Man!” They hear Sonny’s voice. “What’s going on? Wo-hah! What. The. Fuck-?”

“I told you! I told you! It’s a dick cake!” Blip announces, dragging Sonny and Voorhies into the refrigerated room. “You gotta see it to believe it.”

Before long there is a host of teammates filing into the service corridor each piling on top of the other sneak a peek; tooting and chortling sounds over clicks and camera flashes.

It doesn’t take long for all the stupid jokes to start.

“Yo Lawson? Did you model for  or did they use their imagination?” Some wiseass asks.

“Why’d they gotta keep it so cold in here?” Another wiseass cracks. “Is that safe for his ‘nads?”

“Maybe it’s cause they’re worried Lawson’s dick might melt off!” Another wiseass answers.

If Amelia could find some space through the swarm of her smartass teammates blocking the exit of the walk-in cold room, Ginny knows the woman would run off to weep privately.

“Well!” Mike says, good-naturedly. “If _this_ is supposed to be some sort of birthday joke and that _thing_ is supposed to represent mine, let me tell you mooks straight up. It is grossly inaccurate.” He grins at them all. “Mine’s bigger!”

And that sets Evelyn Sanders into another bout of L-O-L’s. The mini-mob of Padres follow suit and the entire service corridor thunders with laughter.

Ginny drops her face into her hands, unable to resist a chuckle.

Amelia’s mortification grows at a crescendo. Her growing horror at their comments finally crumples to hopelessness when she looks at Ginny and Mike, with an upturned lower lip and red, watery eyes. “I’m so sorry.” She says, trembling. “They must have mixed up the addresses or something. They must have sent it to the wrong party.”

“Cheer up! Amelia!” Mike takes off his jacket and drapes it around Amelia’s shoulders, struggling to hide his hilarity. He throws his arm around her and hugs her to his side.

Ginny feels a flash of jealousy and possessiveness. Then she regrets it. (Her agent had been the first to discover the faux pas, and she had been lingering in the cold room the longest, plus she’s standing directly in the path of a draft vent.) Amelia’s been hugging herself and shivering all this time. 

(Ginny’s starting to feel the chill too – and not having any underwear doesn’t help the cause.)

“It’s an honest mistake,” Mike consoles, rubbing Amelia’s arms like he’s intending to warm her.

“Yeah, it’ cool Miss Slater.” Dusty pipes up. “We’re seventy percent sure that Lawson’s face don’t look like that.”

And another bout of gleeful guffaws spread, but at least Amelia doesn’t look as dejected as before.

“Guess it’s too late to get another one.” Ginny pouts apologetically at Mike. “For what it’s worth, we had a really nice cake picked out – a very, cool, grownup, baseball themed cake.”

“Yeah – it was two baseballs and a bat with your….” Amelia starts to say innocently, her teeth chattering.

“Ooh.” Ginny winces as soon as the words are out of Amelia’s mouth.

On cue, a boom of laughter explodes again and Mike clearly can’t resist joining in. He’s still hugging Amelia to his side but he’s looking at Ginny with fond merriment.

Ginny glares at Mike for Amelia’s sake until he takes the hint.

“Alright, alright!” Mike snaps her fingers, silencing his teammates with poorly held stern glares. “Cut it out! These poor ladies are freezing. Come on let’s all get outta here.”

“Aww Amelia,” Evelyn coos with sympathy in her Mom-voice, still giggling. “Come on honey – you look like you could use a hot toddy apple.”

She extricates Amelia out of Mike’s arms and leads her out. The boys clear a path for them to leave. Mike catches Ginny’s hand and barking at the boys to move off the exit so she can keep her shoulders warm.

“What’re we gonna do about the dick cake?” Sonny asks, after they shut the cold room door.

“It’s still a cake.” Mike shrugs. “And it’s still my birthday.”

 

 

“Lawson! Come on!” Ginny protests loudly.

Sonny and Blip wheel the cake trolley out in the middle of the lounge. The rest of the boys are jumping and whooping, like this is the best thing that happened all night.

“What the…?” Amelia hisses, rushing up, cutting to the front of the line of _Padres_ WAGs flocking around the cake. “Lawson!  Are you serious?”

She hands Mike his jacket, shaking her head and covering her shocked mouth watching the boys set up the cake with the help of some staff.

A flurry of shocked gasps echo throughout the room as the guests drift towards them.

She cringes seeing all the appalled looks thrown by the others, wishing that a hole would just open in the ground and swallow her. Al’s and Buck’s wide-eyed responses to the cake are priceless enough to be photographed.

“Guys! Please! This is gross!” Ginny shouts over the din. “Lawson, don’t tell me you are okay with cuttin’ and eatin’ _that_ on your birthday!”

Mike pulls his jacket on, while Blip appears with a microphone. He hands it to Mike and seeks his wife out. Evelyn seems a lot less hammered, more collected and alert. (Ginny’s certain that Blip would have imprisoned her in that walk in refrigerated chamber with the penis cake if they had known it was a solution for inebriation.)

Mike taps the mic and then clears his throat. “Okay! People! Can I have your attention? Oy!”

Things take a while to settle, but they do.

 “So…” Mike starts. “Baker and – ”  He glances around for her as she tries to masterfully skulk behind Livan and Al. “Baker! What are you -? Get over here, Rookie!” He barks.

She shakes her head adamantly, moving deeper within the guests gathering around her.

“Are you seriously waving me off?” He hollers with that grumpy face. “On my birthday? At my party?”

A roll of hushed snickers rumble. Livan and Salvamini start nudging her towards the front.

“This season, Baker!”  Mike uses his Captain-voice.

Ginny frowns at him but relents as she always does, trudging towards his side reluctantly.

“Right.” He says, just as she stands to his left while Blip and Evelyn flank his right. “Baker here – and you all know who she is, right? First female in the major leagues, blah de blah.” He rolls his eyes. “She invited you, I’m sure. Personally – right? ‘Cause everyone _I_ would want with me to celebrate my birthday party is here without exception. No one says no to Ginny Baker.”

Ginny smiles sheepishly. Everyone nods and several throw her smiles.

He plonks his heavy arm around her shoulder and pulls her close without any reservation. So close, that Ginny worries if people will misread. But, no one seems to care. Evelyn gives Ginny an encouraging wink as she hugs her seemingly unaffected husband. Livan smirks knowingly but doesn’t give away anything more. There’s not an iota of suspicion on any of the faces before her.

“So – Baker and my team.” Mike starts. “They planned this party. And I think we should give them all a big hand because – it _is_ a great party.”

Everyone promptly starts clapping with some howls and cheers thrown in the mix.

“I _think_ \- it’s obvious,” he says, after he gestures for them to end the applause, “that there was an unintentional goof up.” He points to the cake.

He gives a requisite pause for the murmurs and whispers.

“At least I hope it was unintentional.” He adds for comic effect, with that perfectly guileless expression.

Nervous laughter follows.

“Here’s the thing.” Mike says, turning his head to Ginny, grinning at her freely, jostling her by the elbow around her neck. Even then, none of the players nor the guests shoot questioning looks or make awkward expressions. It gives her the courage to slowly slip her arm around Mike’s waist.

Mike’s arm moves to clasp her shoulder lightly. It feels more intimate than the semi-deadlock he had hooked around the nape of her neck.

“I grew up without big birthday parties,” Mike says slowly, turning his head back to his rapt audience, “My mom and I – we moved around a lot. So, I didn’t have many friends. Birthday cakes were mainly muffins that my Mom would bring over last minute because she…” He makes airquotes with the same hand in which he holds the microphone. “… _forgot_...to order a cake.” He lets out a wistful noise. “And that was mostly ‘cause – she couldn’t afford a cake.”

Ginny cranks her head up at him with surprise. She glances at Amelia and finds that Amelia seems startled too. She looks at the Sanders and they’re both wearing identical bittersweet smiles. She looks at Al, and he’s beaming at Mike with a mix of fatherly pride and sympathy. When she glances at the others, most of the _Padres_ and the guests _,_ especially the ones who’ve known Mike the longest, don’t seem fazed by Mike’s information. Several of them look like they empathize or relate with his story.

Ginny feels guilty; awkwardly aware of how unmindful she is of everyone’s troubled lives and childhood grievances except hers.

Mike continues to speak, “This party is planned by the people closest to me.” He glances at Ginny, Blip and the rest of the team. He nods at Amelia. She gives him an affectionate smile.

“I got my teammates –” He says, looking at all the _Padres_ , the managers, the coaches, the PTs. “These lazy, snot-eatin’ mooks here. My favourite losers in the world.”

They all boo and jeer in mock umbrage, but Ginny knows they are all as overcome with affection and appreciation as she is.

He nods his head at each one of them starting with Al.  “You folks are the best family a man could ask for.” He says. “Yeah, that includes you too, Livan…”

(To which, Livan raises a glass with a dimpled smirk.)

Mike shrugs. “So, I guess, in a way what I’m sayin’ is – I got my family.”

Everyone responds with either a gracious smile or an expressive headnod.

His gaze moves to Oscar and the few front office people that she knew were his friends. “I’ve got a home. My real home. The _Padres_ …”

“I got my friends.” Mike looks at the other the other guests that Ginny had invited. The ex- _Padres,_ baseballers from other teams, his agent, his lawyer and some others. “The best friends a guy can ask for. People who always have my back –” He shrugs with a straight face. “When they’re not tryin’ to stab it, that is.”

Amused laughter passes around.

“I got the game.” He states, lifting his brow, and looking at the rapt crowd with serious eyes. “This game - it didn’t just give a scrappy kid from the ‘burbs of San Diego a means to an income and a future.” Mike says. “Baseball gave me a _life_.”

He sighs. “And, here I am!” Mike says, in a softer tone. “I got here, to this point in life, playing the game that I love. I wake up each morning, knowing I get to do what I love – for a living. And yes, I may not act like it – but I sure am thankful for that.”

He sighs. “And yes, I am thirty-seven today.” He clicks his tongue. “And – yes, my birthday cake looks like –” He points to it and makes a dirty face. “… well that.” He shrugs. “Thank goodness there aren’t any kids here, ah?”

A murmur of agreement passes. The remainder outraged and mortified looks immediately change to smiles.

Mike looks at Ginny, gives her a small but significant lopsided smirk, “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m celebrating my birthday with the people that I love…” and he blinks at her twice. Ginny’s heart skips a beat and her smile freezes. He quickly looks away, nodding at each and every one of the guests again, starting with Blip and adds, “…from the bottom of my cranky old heart.”

Her heart roars to a joyous life doing cartwheels inside her ribcage. She brims with emotion, aware of Mike’s warm hand squeezing her. She tightens her arm around his body, tucks herself a little more into his side and smiles wide.

“And –” Mike says. “Lookie here…” He points at Ginny. “I finally made this impenetrable fortress of guts’n’glory cry with my eloquent-as-hell birthday speech! So, I’d say it’s perfect!”

Everyone laughs, claps and cheers pour out.

Ginny sobs out a chuckle, her tears spilling over. She shakes her head and pulls away from him to wipe her cheeks. He nudges her with an elbow and a teasing ear-to-ear grin that makes her want to pull his cheek.

So, she does – so hard he yowls like a puppy. And she doesn’t care what any one thinks of it.

(Everyone laughs harder, anyway.)

“Cheeseball.” She sniffles, elbowing him.

“Do you know how hard it is to make Ginny Baker cry?” He trumpets, like he’s made it to the five hundred homer club, still rubbing that sore cheek. “Colin Cowherd’s been trying to do it for a whole damn year!”

“Yeah that’s how bad your speech was, Mike!” Sonny hollers.

“Yeah, don’t think I didn’t see you wiping your nose, Sonny! And for the record, he doesn’t have a cold!” Mike announces. He takes on a faraway look and lets out a high-pitched sigh. “I make the best speeches. I tell you – it’s a gift, it really is. I could be in the movies.”

A collective set of jesting groans and suffering sighs break out among the teammates. 

“So – yeah.” Mike grins wide, after the mood lightens. “I’m here. You guys are here. And that’s what’s important.”

He widens his eyes at the cake. “And – hey! If a cake shaped like a dick that, make no mistake - in _no way_ , comes to close to mine – is the price to pay for having such a great birthday...” He nods his head emphatically. “…surrounded by the greatest people – then,” he sighs and shrugs happily, “Sign me up for one every year!”

A roar of cheers and applause erupts. He grins wide and does the dramatic ‘mic drop’.

 

Mike’s cool façade ultimately cracks when Amelia sticks a lighted candle on the tip of the head of the penis cake. He goes red, starts guffawing and covering his eyes with those big hands when he moves to blow it. He’s still all ruddy when they all sing ‘Happy Birthday’. He cuts into the cake, wearing a cringing grimace amidst hoots and witticisms interspersed with a flurry of hisses, ‘yikes’ and ‘ooohs’ from the men in the group. The women mainly just laugh, cheer and shriek, Evelyn Sanders leading the brigade.

All things considered – once everyone gets past the dissected shape of it – the cake is amazing. People go back for seconds as the staff come around to the help with the distribution.

At the end of the night, he embraces Blip first, they slap each other’s backs like men do. Amelia’s grinning wide when Mike steps up to hug her. The nervous tension on her face is completely gone and she's radiant with affection. Ginny thinks she looks so much fresher and prettier. 

(Mike managed so amazingly to turn a night of crazy snafus around.  _You shouldn’t be surprised,_ Ginny tells herself.  

It’s just sort of man he is. Always ready to step up to the plate. Always having everyone’s backs. And though, Ginny’s not the sort of woman who places her sense of self in a man’s assessment of her, being special in Mike Lawson’s eyes makes her feel like she can conquer the world.)

“Wow.” Evelyn says, to her when she comes to Ginny’s side.  They watch Mike go from person to person, thanking them individually with either a shake of the hand, a clap on their back, or a brief hug.

“Yeah.” Ginny sighs.

“Someone’s in love.” Evelyn mumbles.

Ginny feels flattered. “Yeah.” She acknowledges.

“Of course, _he_ is.” Evelyn states, rolling her eyes. “That’s a given.”

Ginny looks at Evelyn. “But, I was talking about you.”

Ginny doesn’t know what to say. Her friend gives Ginny a kiss on the cheek that feels like a felicitation.

“Now, don’t start about the code.” Evie rolls her eyes when Ginny remains stumped.

“I wasn’t gonna…” Ginny protests.

“There was never any code, when it came to him – sweetie.” Evelyn cajoles. “Any way you try to play it, you two were just – delaying the inevitable. Better late than never. Or in this case, better lat _er_ than soon _er_. At least you got to know him first.” 

“You think so?”

“I know so.” Evelyn shrugs at her with a knowing face. “Blip suspects it. How you both feel.” Evie says. “He won’t tell me ‘cause he thinks I can’t keep my big fat mouth shut. I know my bae better than he knows himself. I always know what he’s thinking.”

Ginny chews on her lip.

“Don’t worry, Gin – I’ll keep your secret even from my husband.” Evelyn smiles and then hisses. “Believe me – he doesn’t _want_ to know right now. It’ll put a lot of pressure on him.”

“So, does that mean, you won’t want details?” Ginny jibes.

Evelyn smacks her hard on the shoulder earning a yip of protest. “Of course I want details! I always want details.” She scolds. She breaks into a smile and winks at Ginny. “But, I can wait. You guys should have tonight. Everything that comes after…” Evie sighs with a wince. “It’s – gonna be tough. Everything’s just going to be so much harder for you, honey, because…” She trails off with a sad sympathetic face.

“Because I’m Ginny Baker.” Ginny completes with a heavy sigh.

“Are you scared of how it’ll play out?” Evie looks concerned.

“Very.” Ginny admits with a wince.

“Good.”

“Why?”

Her friend hugs her. “Because that means you won’t take what you have for granted.” Evie says. “On and off the field.” She draws back to beam at Ginny with delight. “I’m happy for you, Gin. For the both of you.”

Ginny watches Evie exchange a sweet kiss with her husband when she goes to him. It’s a gesture that contains all the things a couple ought to represent - love, friendship, perseverance, and togetherness.

It’s the first time she allows herself to hope for something beyond this night.  Something she might share with Mike one day.

 

At last, Mike hauls her into a bear hug that’s warm, uplifting and jam-packed with so much passion that she feels it all the way to her bones.

She feels _love_ all the way to her bones.

“Happy birthday, Mike.” She whispers, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“We’re done with the cake, Ginny.” He mutters a little gruffly in her ear.

“You wanna get out of here, Old Man?” She murmurs.

Even if anybody notices them leaving together, or suspects that there’s something happening between them - she doesn’t give a fuck.

It’s like Evie says – everything that comes after, is _going_ to be tough. This is Mike’s night, tonight. It’s their night.

“Finally,” He murmurs, drawing back with the widest, most gleeful grin she’d ever seen on a face. “A happy birthday to me.”  

 

* * *

 

 

“So what was the plan, really?” Mike asks her, as she opens the door to the suite.

“Oh – y’know. Cut the cake. Give you a hug” She waves the keycard in his face. “Drop this in your jacket and say something sexy.”

“Like telling me you’re not wearing panties?”

“I don’t know –!” She giggles timidly. “Something like that.”

Ginny drops they keycard into the power-slot and moves ahead of him into the living room. Mike double locks the door and jabs the ‘do not disturb’ button.

“The idea was to surprise you, or at least make you curious.” She gives him a lopsided smile, pulling off her earrings and the bangle off her wrist and dropping them onto the sidestand.

“Well, good on you, Baker. You surprised the fuck out of me!” He follows her in. “And made me curious.”

“Well, you _could_ have blown me off…” She points out.

Her voice falls an octave, imitating a baritone that he feels is the worst imitation of him, yet.

“ _Geez Baker! Keep your ladyboner to yourself. I’m your Captain. You’re an annoying duckling. I do not like to bang with water fowl who can’t even throw fastballs._ ”

Mike’s bursting with chuckles by the time she’s done.

He draws her into a loose hug, interlocking his fingers behind her waist, grinning at her fondly. She steps out of the sandals and her head descends several notches to his eye level.

“What if I didn’t reject you, mm?” He asks. “What then?”

She flattens her mouth and closes her eyes like she’s thinking. He considers the long hexagonal shape of her lips, like a boat, lower one slightly plumper and pinker than the top. 

She shrugs her shoulders when she opens her eyes. “Then I guess we’d be right here…where we are, now.”

“Hmm. And then?”

“And then I guess we fuck.”

“No shit?” He snarks.

Ginny giggles.

“So,” He drops his voice. “Any – _specific_ plans for fucking?”

“I don’t know.” Ginny says, softly. She slips her arms up slowly, looping them around his shoulder. “It _is_ your birthday. Figured…I’d leave the choices up to you?”

Mike smiles. She smiles back.

“What’s that?” Ginny asks, nodding the parcel he’d tossed on the small dining table as he’d walked in.

“Leftover cake.”

“Why?”

“In case you get hungry, later.” Mike grins.

“What if I’m hungry for cock, now?” She says with a wink. “One that’s not made of cake.”

“Not that your filthy mouth doesn’t titillate.” He mumbles. “But, is that the seduction tactic you’re going with?”

She blushes. “Yeah, that kinda sounded better in my head.”

“So – what now?” He asks in a lower voice, tightening his arms around her frame and pulling her close.

“Um…I was planning to kiss you.” She says.

“Then, by all means, Rookie…kiss me.”

Ginny cups his beard and pulls his head down. Mike closes his eyes as soon as her lips touch his. It’s an oddly cautious brush, till she rolls up on her toes and captures his upper lip with her mouth, winding her arms around his shoulders tight.

Mike stays still, letting her slide the tip of her tongue over his top lip. A thrill rumbles through his lower body. The hairs on his arms stand up. She pulls back quickly, pursing her mouth, tipping her forehead against his, her eyes sealed.

He glances at her face and she looks – well – she looks a little shy.

He waits for her open her eyes before speaking. “Yeah – what if that wasn’t convincing enough?” He clicks his tongue, making an iffy face.

She pulls her head back with a frown.

(He’s lying of course, she kisses like a dream. But Mike wouldn’t be her catcher if he didn’t know that she can do better.

And she always does better when he challenges her.) 

He breaks into a laugh and cups the back of her head. “Try again, Rookie.”

Ginny lets out a husky harrumph that gets his whole body wired up. She reels him in and presses her open mouth on his, crushing her front up against his, licking his lips over and over again. It feels like she’s trying to abrade at his self-restraint, lick it off, layer by layer. 

(And it's working.)

Mike gives in with a groan, tugs the bun at the back of her head, angles her face, sticks his tongue in.

He kisses her deep. (Like he’s been wanting to, since that night night in LA when he watched her dance with a mounting sense of dread that he might be having inappropriate feelings for his pitcher.) 

She kisses him back with equal fervour. (If there’s one thing predictable about Ginny, it’s how competitive she is.) She nips at his mouth with her teeth, fights his tongue off to with hers, swipes her tongue along the roof of his mouth till the back of his teeth.

Blood rushes to his dick, his lower abs contract – and his balls feel heavier. 

Mike palms his way down her posterior, neck to ass. He eases the pressure of his mouth, offering her his tongue to suck, runs his greedy hand, over her bare shoulders, down her yellow dress, grabs that pear-shaped ass by the cheeks. He gropes those fine gluteals with all the desire and pent up want, trying to get as much of its mass in his large hands. Her little moans tell him that she enjoys the attention.

He walks her backwards towards the bedroom enclave while she busies her fingers. She frantically releases his tie, flings it away, flattens her palms over his chest through his shoulders. Her fingers knead over trapeziums and deltoids, those wiry long digits rapping through his shirt.

He keeps her steady, one arm wrapped around her waist and the other working her body over the easy fabric. 

He tears his hands away to let her shove the jacket off his shoulders. When she struggles to push it past his bicep, she nips his lip as if to let him know, he peels it off, and throws it away.

When they make it to the bed, they release hands, still locked at the lips. He unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his pants, she scrabbles with the buttons of his shirt.

Ginny pulls away with rough growl when it seems like she can’t get past the fourth button. Mike regains control of his breathing, gears up to help her but she snarls like a cat and yanks her elbows savagely.

The buttons fly off.

“Hope you weren’t too attached to that shirt.” She mutters, ripping it all the way.

Mike stares. That wild wanton aggression on Ginny’s face feels like a line drive to his ribs. His heart beats too rapidly to be human. His body feels like a lump of charged nerves. His dick surges.

(She’s like this, _for him._ ) He slams his mouth on hers, wanting to consume her – all of her. She's the only reprieve for the raging ache that burns all over. Their teeth clash. She gasps into his mouth. Soft puffs of air hit the back of his throat, and Mike does not think about how well it works for his swelling dick.

She makes an angry noise and shoves at his chest. He stumbles back wondering what he did wrong, but Ginny isn’t even looking at him. She’s hitching his vest up irritably, like it’s the most offensive thing she’s seen since cilantro. He mutely lifts his arms up and lets her drag his under vest off.

She just looks at him for a few seconds. Her darkened eyes roam over his frame till her face settles. Her pupils bloom as she touches him, diffidently. One hand placed over his chest the other over his flank. (This was the same woman who’d been nipping at him inside a coatroom like she wanted to gnaw the skin right off his body.)

She looks up at his face, pulling her eyebrows in that pouty frown. She’s confused.

He’s confused too. Doesn’t know why, though.

They’ve reached some sort of impasse just staring at each other, gasping for breath, touching each other lightly.

Mike steps forward and unhooks the collar on her dress. Her hands start to move, skating lightly over his skin at first, her touch provably becoming more insistent.

She has the roughest, boniest hands on a woman. They’re slender and shapely. Long palms and long fingers. Industrious hands; hands that will happily blister - even bleed, if it means mastering the mechanics of a pitch. He thinks to pluck them and kiss them, offer some sort of obeisance with his actions that he can barely articulate with words.

Instead, Mike leaves her to play with his skin and explore his body with her lovely hands. Hands that he loves.

Mike doesn’t know if it’s the abrasive texture of her skin– or if it’s the fact those are _her_ hands, goose hives erupt and recede in their wake, his dick gets bloodlogged to a point of no return.

He drops his head to mouth the crook of her shoulder. He licks the silky-smooth skin in the hollow behind her collarbone. She rewards him with a little shudder, strumming her fingers over his bicep. He drags his beard down her neck, easing the bodice off her skin, following the slipping fabric with dry kisses, down her slope of her breasts. His tongue latches to a nipple, sucking it gently before moving on, under the dip of her ribcage. He clasps the zipper on her dress and tugs it down all the way to bottom of her dress, bending his knees as he moves lower, adding tongue to the smacks over the plateau of her belly as it inches loose.

It cascades to the floor just as he kneels. He closes his eyes, brackets her waist. He adjusts the weight on his irritable knees, while she kicks the dress away and slips her fingers into his hair.

He nibbles at the underside of her boobs, sucks little kisses over her abs. Her belly flinches under his fingers, a shiver darts over her body. She scratches his scalp lightly when he finds the particularly sensitive spots. He stops after nibbling at the whorly knob of her belly button and then rests his chin over it.

And Mike finally – _finally_ allows himself to look up at her.

His beautiful goddess. Smiling down on him.

He’d stay on his knees all night and worship her like this if he could.

He tilts his head down, looks at her below her navel. Parts of her that he could only touch earlier that night, but not see. Long thighs, bumpy knees, long willowy legs and long slender feet.  

Her knees shift, she scissors her thighs, hides the mound between them. (Mike finds it odd that she would be self-conscious, Ginny’s always so poised and self-confident.)

When he looks up at her, it’s not bashfulness he sees - but she’s not smiling, either. She’s studying him intently, caressing his face. She runs her thumbs over his eyebrows, traces the worry troughs on his forehead with her forefingers, and his lips with her pinkies. She pets his beard and combs his hair.

He hugs her, encircles his arms around the girth her hips, swiping his fingers over the domes of her ass, and strumming the cleft between.

She squirms some more and a distinct scent hits him. Suddenly, everything makes sense. (Fuck, that smell’s been driving his dick crazy for the last five minutes. He’s already leaking copiously because of it.)

It arouses her, he realizes, to be stared at like that.

He runs his hands down from the sides of her hip all the way to her calves, brings them up from the back, watching her reactions. She smacks her lips, digs her fingernails into his scalp, swallows hard occasionally. When he rubs his thumbs into the lax skin at the back of her knees, she shivers and grapples at his hair.

He brings his hands up to cuddle the curve of her ass. He buries his face into her belly, blindly reaching up to fondle her breasts, kissing her all over the span of her surfboard flat abdomen, touches her every inch of skin he can get his hands on, deliberately ignoring her pussy, even though she’s starting to widen her hips slowly, saving the best for last.

Mike is not usually the type of man to compare women, so, he doesn’t know why he thinks of the ‘sporty’ women he’s been with.

Ginny’s body is adamantine. Hard, muscular, and firm everywhere except the innate womanly edges – the softness of her breasts, the wide fulless of her hips, the slight roundness of her pussy. Her golden skin is not unmarred or unblemished. Its velvety finish is uneven, sunbeaten and toughened -  sprinkled with scars of varying shapes and sizes - the worst over her knees.

The ‘atheltic’ women he’d dated before -  their fit bodies were lean and toned too, but their physique was more appearance than performance, covered with unhardened, mostly flawless skin that hadn’t seen the sweltering heat and or pricking dust of ballparks or sustained the demand of professional sports.

(He’s been confusing parodies with what’s real – that’s what he realizes.)

There’s something distinctly powerful and impressive about Ginny Baker. A story whispered from the belly of every robust muscle, written into every jut of bone, etched into every inch of skin.

And Mike reads it, all of it.

A hardworking, straight-up, tough-as-nails athlete with the body to show for it.

She’s not an epithet, she’s pure game.

And, she’s perfection to him.

“What are you doing?” She asks.

He looks up at her, realizing that he’s not been doing anything but gaping at her bamboozled. He feels like an idiot.

“Thinking.” He croaks.

“’Bout what?” She strokes his cheek.

There’s something so kind and cherishing about the way she does that. The curiosity in her voice adds a childlike intonation that makes her sound like a little girl. (The fact that it sexually excites him can’t be normal, right?)

“How beautiful you are.” He answers.

She rewards him with a delightful smile that makes him feel ten years younger, ten feet taller and ten times stronger.

“Also, I was thinking about….” He presses his nose into her mid-section and rubs the tip on it, still glancing upwards.

“About?” She asks, sweetly.

“Human anatomy.”

She bursts into that braying laugh. Mike pulls her close, hugging her by the hips, closing his eyes and sighing with relief and adoration. Her giggle vibrates through her frame. He feels it take hold a of him and he smiles into her skin, peppering kisses over her stomach.

 _I love you. I love you. I love you._ He thinks with every pucker and press of his lips.

“Don’t laugh.” He says, trying to look serious, rubbing her belly with the under-surface of his jaw where the beard is the thickest. Ginny twists herself like she’s trying to meet his actions. He wonders if she’s aware that her body _loves_  his beard, despite her claims to the contrary

“Why not?” She asks, still shaking.

“I know _a lot_ about human anatomy.” He says with wide eyes.

“I am sure you do. I’ll bet you’ve broken or injured every single bone in your long and illustrious career, Old Man.” She mocks.

“Except the one that matters, of course.” He squeezes that hard bulge in his pants temporarily and winks.

Her body rattles as she purses her mouth, she’s stifling her laugh.

“What?” He scoffs.

“So much for your knowledge of human anatomy.” She sputters. “Dicks are boneless organs.”

“Maybe the dicks you’ve dated were boneless organs.” He mutters.

She gurgles out muffled chuckles first, then swats his head with a playful scowl.

“Yes, Miss Smartypants.” He grins, and releases her with a gentle push in the direction of the bed. “I know.”

Ginny moves back and sits on the edge of the bed. Mike walks forward on his knees and grasps her calves, digging his thumbs in figures-of-eight, massaging the belly of her knotty calf muscles. She hums with pleasure and leans her weight on her palms.

Her perky breasts look delicious from where he’s beholdin’ ‘em.

“I’ll bet those boneless organs didn’t know half as much as I do about women.” He gloats (just to rile her up).

Sure enough, Ginny’s riled up. She gives him a narrow-eyed, feisty, toothless smile that makes his dick twitch with excitement.

“And what do you know about women, really?” She challenges.

Mike pulls his hands up to her knees and wedges them apart.

“Everything.” He answers, all smug and matter-of-factly.

“Everything?” She snaps them shut.

He adds more weight into his actions and pries them apart, lodging his body in the space between. She traps his sides with her thighs, bracing them inwards like she’s trying to discipline him for his impudence. He feels the strength in her muscles compress his ribs.

(And god help him – he can’t wait to have those powerful thighs wrapped around his ass when he stuffs his dick inside her.)

“Yep.” He declares and runs a loosely curled knuckle on that mound above her pussy. It’s hairless and smooth as a baby’s rump. “Mound of Venus.” He states.

Ginny’s face deadpans for a second and then she covers her mouth, her eyes twinkling with laughter she’s trying to hold back on the laugh. He notices the slight laxity of her hips as she giggles silently. He leans forwards and presses a soft kiss over the ‘mound of Venus’.

“A.k.a.” He adds, cheekily. “Mons pubis…”

That incredible odour hits him more forcefully as he ducks. Mike’s dick rises to the point where he’s pretty sure it’s just chomping at the bit to salute her.    

“Yeah okay.” She shaking with laughter. “We’re really doing this? You’re going to teach _me_ female anatomy while you go down on me.”

(He doesn’t tell her that he dated a sexologist once, gaining a very thorough knowledge of female anatomy that he intends to put to good use.)

Mike grabs her ankles, trapping her knees under his arms. She leans back on her elbows, her white teeth bared in chuckles.

“Rookie, you’ll be begging for more anatomy lessons after I’m done.” He brags.

Her eyes narrow again, as her jaw falls as she sucks in an irate breath loudly. “Oh, you’re on, superstar.” She adjusts herself spreading herself wide for him. “Teach away.” She goads.

Mike ducks and kisses softly over the mound. She’s more edgy with determination than arousal and he plans on reversing that. He licks a long band down from the peak all the way to just above the tip of the joint where she opens out, tasting sweat more than anything. She grunts a little as he licks his way back up, grating his beard after his tongue, adding a blunt graze of teeth. Her grunts quickly change to little gasps, her lower belly clenches.

“Are – are you gonna spend all night over the mons pubis?” She demands. “I do have other ladybits, you know?”

Mike bites the ‘mons pubis’ harder as a reprimand. She squeals.  “What do I tell you about constantly interrupting me?” He asks, moving lower.

“That you miss it when I don’t.” Comes her sassy reply. Mike grins freely, because she can't see it. He feels her shift so she’s sitting up.

“Wouldn’t want you to miss stuff.” She teases. “It is your birthday after all.”

“And what a happy birthday it is!” He pipes a rebuttal.

He flexes his shoulders and hooks his elbows under her knees and licks the inside of her thigh. He’s surrounded with that mind-blowing smell that’s just pure arousal. He even thinks about giving her a lecture of pheromones just to delay the urge to lap up the wetness he can see glistening all over her pussy.

She sighs and falls back. The mattress recoils, Ginny’s body rebounds passively, her hips inadvertently spread wider, giving him better access.

He gently nips around the tender skin on her inner thighs, lines his tongue in the crease where thigh meets hip. Her breathing gets louder – more shuffled.

“Labia…” He says, clearing his throat as he makes his way to the dusky, cushy flaps that get pinker by the minute.

She jerks when he caroms his tongue. “Okay.” She huffs, impatiently. “What about them?”

Mike chuckles.

“Labia majora.” He announces and drags the tip of his tongue more insistently over the skin. A tangy flavour mixes inside his mouth. He pulls off and looks at her. “Some people just call ‘em cunt flaps or cunt lips – but that’s just such a crude term, don’t you think?” He says, loftily, between light kisses. “Besides – there’s two sets.”

Ginny makes a very squeaky noise as he brushes his beard gently.

“These little ones are my favourite.”  He asserts. A long, husky whine sounds out when he rakes his tongue deeper through the cleft between the folds, using his tongue to find that rosette. It turns to a wail of protest when he pulls away to give his tongue a little break and letting her taste fill the inside of his mouth. “Labia minora.” He adds when he pulls off.

Ginny’s gasp is loud and thick. He feels the sheet move under her body. He reckons she’s using it for grip. He licks like pleat of tender flesh long and hard, wiggling his tongue until she hyperventilates. “Okay, okay!” She squawks

“The labia minora…” Mike speaks louder because his voice is dampened by working the said body part. “…are All Stars in my opinion. They’re champs, really.”

“Okay, I get it!” She belts out when he does it again. “Labia majora and minora!”

He chuckles and then nuzzles her clit. That salty tart smell gets more intense. “And everyone knows what this one is.” He says, gently stroking her clit with his tongue.

“Oh! Shit!” She howls. Her spine rises and ebbs like a wave.

She flutters all the way – it runs down her body like a cat’s purr. He captures her clit his mouth and rubs his lips against them. He tightens his hold on her thigh to keep them apart. He dabs his tongue over its hooded top and she does that purring thing again. Her juices start to feel thicker and tangier.

“Which one is that, Rookie?” He says, finding it hard to keep his voice in check. He doesn’t want to let on how affected he is by her response. “Wanna take a guess?”

“Um…”

Mike licks around the wet, smooth button. She makes a throaty sound.

“Um…” She husks out, slowly. “C-C-Clitoris.”

(Mike is thankful she can’t see his face because if she says ‘clitoris’ in that _that_ voice once more, he’ll be finished before she is.)

“Do you know?” Mike mumbles, tickling the swollen clit with his beard. “The clitoris is packed with thousand times the number of nerve endings than a dude’s dick. This baby – right here…” Mike taps the bulging bud with his forefinger and Ginny promptly shivers and curses at the same time, “…is the undisputed MVP of the game. It might look like a quiet little lady – no offense to your feminist sensibilities – but it’s the power-hitter underneath the surface.”

“Yeah?” Her voice floats.

“Yeah.” He says, tracing his knuckle over her gently.

“So erm…?” She croaks.

Ginny’s pelvis tilts. Mike sinks to his haunches to keep his head in position as she rises to a half-seated position. She kicks off his hold on her thighs and then flattens the soles of her feet on his shoulders. Mike watches dumbfounded as she lifts a hand, tipping her weight on the other elbow, reaching for a turgid nipple, pinching it till it hardens.

(Fuck, he wants to suck on her tits so badly it hurts.)

His jaw feels weightless.

“So…?” She speaks in soft, higher pitched voice, distracting him from his thoughts.

“So what?” He asks, dumbly.

Her eyes are sooty – misty. Her face is flushed. There’s a halo of frizzy hair over the sleeked mane on her crown.

“So, you planning to do something with the MVP or you plannin’ to lull it sleep with one of your lengthy speeches?” She fires out.

(Yep. Leave it to Ginny Baker to still be in the fight.)

Mike throws his head back chuckling for a few seconds, abruptly cuts the funnies, shooting her a stony glance just before he goes to work.

 _“F-f-fuuuuck!”_ She screams.

Her cry is so beautiful, he's compelled to hear it again. He alternates soft kisses with hard licks. He grabs the insides of her thigh to keep them from boxing his ears. He sucks in her clit, mums his lips and rolls it between his lips so that his beard can tease its edges. 

"Oh my - _unnnnh_!"

She doesn’t fall back. Instead, she butterflies her hips, sits frog legged on the edge of her bed. Her toes flexing on his shoulders for purchase, her toenails scratch his skin. The tension in her body doubles, his biceps strain to keep her thighs apart. He delicately grazes his teeth over the engorged nub, she shoves her hips into his face.

Her scent packs his nose, it’s strong and sharp, filters through his nostrils but saturates his dick, makes him want to explode. A savage noise that erupts from her. She stiffens all over, like she’s willing her body to stay still.

He drags his tongue down to the rim of her cunt, probing the slit with the tip of his tongue, draws back to suck air into his lungs. “Vagina.” He growls out and shoves his tongue in.

Her body staggers with a loud cry. Her thighs clap over his ears, and before Mike can pull out and stick his tongue in again, she’s already thrusting her hips into his face.

She’s dripping so bad that Mike needs to close his eyelids. He stimulates the brim of her cunt with his tongue, trying to get a hand over her clit. It’s met by slender wiry fingers creeping up from above. He smacks her hand away, grabs a hold of her clit in a pincer grasp pulling his face out, because he needs to breathe – and to check on her.

He can’t see her face. She’s still half-seated with her elbows locked straight and hands clawing into the edge of the mattress. Her body is bowed out in an arc with her face thrown back and the columns of her neck bulging, and her breasts on display, her six pack visibly flexing.

Seeing her like coiled like that, a hair’s breadth away from a glorious climax – it takes his breath away.

“God you’re beautiful.” He whispers, aware that she can’t hear him. He rolls his eyes shut, takes in a deep breath and places all the chatter on pause. He buries his face in her pussy and slips two fingers into her cunt. She snaps up, snares his hair in his fist, smothers his face with her cunt, refuses to let go.

It doesn’t take long after that. She screams something unintelligible and squirts all over his face.

His knees crib when he makes to stand up. He stands over her, recuperating his breath, watching her moan and twist in lingering the echoes of a pretty intense orgasm. Her thighs are flopped over the edge of the bed, quivering.  She’s got an elbow thrown over her face and her swollen mouth is breathing out little whimpers and sighs. Her body gleams with sweat.

(And he’d love to hang around in admiration but he can’t wait any longer.)

Mike hastily gets rid of his shoes, socks and pants. He boxers are starched crisp with dried jizz, newly dampened by the rapidly building precum that’s spewing out of his dick when he steps out of them. He checks his pants for his wallet and throws it off when he remembers that he’s stopped carrying a condom around for a long time.

_Fuck._

“Ginny – sweetheart!” He says, hurriedly. “Do you have a…?”

One long arm reaches out before he can complete, and points to the nightstand.

He grabs the water bottle over the nightstand and dumps it over his face to wash her juices off. (He’s not about to risk any sudden turn-offs, not when dick feels unbearably tense.) He grabs the tissues, wiping his face with one hand and jerks the drawer open with the other.

There’s a mini-pharmacy of sex related items. Condom strips of at least three varieties, and varying sizes and three types of lube.

“Geez Baker?” He can’t resist commenting. “You just buy one of everything.”

She’s still twitching when she cranes around to peer through glassy eyes.

“I...uh..I d-d-didn’t know…” She pants and then grimaces unexpectedly. She snaps her arms out on the bed and contorts. He's rendered mute as a spectacular flux of shivers perceptibly runs over her.

It’s like the last wave just hit her.

( _Fuck. Fuck. And fuck.)_

She gasps loud and caves with a lazy hum. He's stunned and breathless, even when she rolls to her side, facing him with a big smile. 

Except her eyes are still closed.

“I –” She rolls her tongue on her dry lips, moistening them. (Mike wants to jump across and take over the job for her.) “I didn’t know which one you preferred.” She huffs.

Mike looks down at the drawer. He's astonished. "You bought all this for me?” 

“You see any other men around here?” She retorts, between little heaves of air, slowly fluttering her eyes open.

He checks the sizes. (None of them are smaller than a large.)

_All this prep. For tonight. For me._

“No I meant…” He wipes his eyes, feeling his dick wag restlessly. He sorts through them, confused.

_(For me. For me. For me. She thought about everything. For me.)_

“Okay!” He huffs. “Which one do _you_ prefer? Ribbed, studded, or good ol’ fashioned plain.”

“Erm…”

He turns to her to expecting her to say something about leaving the choice to him.

Ginny’s slinked all the way to the centre of the bed, resting her head on the pillow.

(And the fact that Ginny Baker is lying completely naked on a bed, face flushed with satisfaction and desire, eyeing his dick with a wolfish smirk isn’t lost to him).

“Er…” She says, running her long fingers over her neck and chest. Mike watches as she wets a finger in her mout and starts rubbing her tits.

 _(Fuck._ She’s trying to kill him with blue balls again, isn’t she?)

“Before my next birthday, Baker!” He snaps.

“I was kinda thinking…” She asks, ignoring his outburst, in that tiny girly voice that has his dick lurch. “Maybe none?”

_W-what?_

His bewilderment must be obvious. She averts her eyes immediately and shakes her head. “Never mind.” She mutters, sighing and turning up to look up at the ceiling. She smiles up at it and starts caressing herself, randomly. Neck, stomach, thighs, breasts - pussy.

“I’m sorry, you _don’t_ want me to use the condom?” He fumbles.

She turns her head to him and smiles bashfully.

“I mean – I’m clean…and I’m covered on the other front as well.” She pats her lower belly. “I’m just saying…I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to ride bareback.” She glances down at his erection. “I mean, if – you’re cool with it.”

His brain is just too addled to process but he feels unprepared and vulnerable. And, he’s fully swollen to the point where everything hurts and he can’t think straight. And, he really can’t hold out.

“You’re sure?” He says.

“I uh – hmm.” She says. “I  uh - want to feel it all.” Stretching her lips like she’s uncertain about how to elaborate. “Everything?”

He’s utterly flabbergasted. (Probably deceased. Attained nirvana whatever. He died and he’s done just enough good in this fucked up life to make it to the happy place where Ginny lies naked on a fluffy bed looking at him like he’s her most treasured desire.

 _Him_.

Not the poster on the wall, who’s failed her so many times.

But him. As he is.)

Mike tosses the condoms, grabs the first tube of lubricant that comes into hand and clambers onto the bed feeling like he’s a sixteen and hormonal, about to have real sex for the first time.

“Gin…” He sighs, swinging his knees over her waist, crawling on top of her. “I’m clean too, okay?” (Man, he sounds as desperate as a horny sixteen-year-old, too). “I promise.”

“I believe you.” She says, with big, confident eyes and a smile.

And for no justifiable reason, the image of a certain  _Cardinals_ catcher pops up randomly in his head.

(It was during rehab, that Ginny had confided the truth about Davis to him. He remembers the stubborn quiver of her chin, the waver in her voice, and the ocean of tears that welled up in her eyes when she used the words ‘loved him’ and ‘why I have the code’ in the same sentence.

He remembers the betrayal and heartbreak he felt on her behalf.)

That burning throb of his dick ebbs. Coherence gathers at his thoughts.

This is not an act of recklessness, he thinks. She _decided_ to break her ironclad code for him. She wouldn’t step over this line if she didn’t trust him. Mike doesn’t quite know how to process that.

(All he thinks is that he doesn’t deserve so much abiding trust.)

“What else do you want, sweetheart?” He asks, dismissing his budding insecurities. “Tell me.”

“Erm….” She says, snatching the tube out of his hand and checking it. “I want to be on top next round.”

“Why not this one?”

“This one’s about you.” She grins, squirting the gel into the hollow of her palm and warming it in her palms. “You do know this isn’t my first rodeo, right?”

“It’s your first rodeo with me.” He maintains with a dead-serious look.

(He cannot convey how badly he _needs_ for her to enjoy this, how comfortable, and special and rewarding he wants to make this for her.

But he sees it: the stubborn set chin, five kinds of bratty, that daring expression in her eyes. She’s gearing up to take on a vigorous fuck as a challenge. He’s half expecting feisty a ‘What else you got?’)  

“Spermicidal.” She sasses, pointing to the tube. “Looks like you’re plannin’ on being harder on your swimmers than me?”

(That does it.)

She shrieks when he swiftly swats the side of her thigh and cackles mischievously after, shaking her head at him with a fond look in her eyes. Mike makes a sharp sibilant sound while she cuddles his dick with a light grasp, greasing the jelly along his length.

“I’ll be real happy if you’re on top, Gin.” He says, mainly to distract himself from the need to fuck himself out into her hand.

“Okay erm…” She goes from bratty to shy in ten seconds. “But, maybe I want you on top for me too.”

Mike sits on his calves, tugging her ankles till her ass is resting on his thigh and her legs bracket his hips. She splits herself wide and uses the remaining jelly stuck to her her hand on herself.

“I don’t think you noticed but…” She points to the ceiling.

Mike glances up and does a double take.

He’s staring at a baffled face. His. (Like, legit – there’s a mirror on the ceiling, directly over the bed.)

“Basic Instinct.” Is all he utters, stupefied.

“I didn’t actually see that movie.” She says, testily.

His diaphragm hitches in slow chuckles and he’s laughing idiotically before he can control it. “Okay.” Mike admits, unable to resist the spark of self-consciousness. He looks down at her face. “ _This_ – is definitely first for me.”

She giggles. He leans down and kisses her on the nose. “You thought of everything, tonight, sweetheart.” He sighs, knocking his forehead over hers, rubbing her nose with his. He reaches between them and starts working her slippery pussy. It’s all a mushy mix of her juices and lube.

“Tonight’s about it.” She sighs, arching up to his touch. “Didn’t think of anything beyond that.”

“Like what?” He asks, casually.

“Like what happens after. How this works.”

Mike draws back to find a mopey-weepy look on her face.  

“That’s the price of being Ginny Baker, right?” She says, sarcastically. “Can’t have a normal relationship like everyone else.”

He thinks of Trevor Cockblocking Davis again.

(He remembers that day, all too well.

An awareness walloped him that day. The price of breaking her code. The magnitude of the responsibility of being involved with her. It scared the fuck out of him, made him tuck his tail between his legs and run straight to Rachel. 

He remembers that day well and not just because he was a colossal wimp. He remembers that day because not _one_ those anguished tears fell from her eyes.)

She’s wearing that same stormy expression now.

(With a raging dick, his mind vacant in a sexual fubar, and that stab sadness of sadness he feels for her, he ought to get a medal for being able to dig deep and retrieve one sarcastic joke to distract her.)

He drawls, expressionless. “Guess I’m gonna get lucky with the famous Ginny Baker on my birthday, ha?” He clicks his tongue and lets out a suffering sigh. “At least I got something to put up on Instagram bio.”

She blinks at him for a second and then explodes into that crazy laugh he loves. Mike cups her face while she’s still in giggles and gives her messy kiss that's interrupted by her chuckles.

 _(I love you._ He wants to say.) “We’ll figure this out.” He promises, earnestly.

Her fingers speak on her behalf. The gentle caress along his flank and over his beard tells him everything he needs to hear.

“You choose this room, Baker?” He asks, lifting his eyebrows upwards when her giggles subside. “Did a little preliminary research on where you wanted me to fuck you?”

('Cause, why else would an otherwise frugal Ginny opted for such an opulent hotel suite?)

“Maybe.” She answers with a surreptitious smile.

“Wanted to see yourself get fucked, Rookie?” He baits in his softest, deepest voice, feeling more carnal than jovial. Mike grabs the base of his dick and rubs the shaft along her pussy. He probes her clit and then her cunt. He leans forward, propped up on one hand, the other fisted over his dick.

“Yeah sure, let’s go with that.” She says, swallowing hard, looking down and biting her lower lip in anticipation.

“Oh. There’s another real reason?” He frowns and draws back.

“I er…” She clears her throat.

“Rookie?” He prompts.

“I kinda wanna….”

(The only reason she’s so forthcoming is probably because she’s badly in need of being fucked.) Her eyes are like little mini coal-black voids.

“Wanna what?” He asks, looking down and pumping his dick instinctively.

“…see your ass when you - um – fuck me.”

Mike jerks his head up at her.

She winces, sheepishly.

“Seriously?” He tapers his eyes.

She nods, still grimacing like she’s embarrassed.

Mike looks up at the mirror wondering how in the hell it went unnoticed the entire time. He looks at her reflection. She’s looking at him, stroking his arms and shoulders with a sweet, pensive, smile.

“Does that creep you out?” She asks.

Mike looks down on her, feeling his cheeks towing the corners of his mouth.  

(And really, can he be any more in love with her?)

“You’re a just a randy li’l pervert, aren’t you, Ginny Baker?” He drawls at the culmination of a big fat grin.

She shakes with laughter, tilting her head away, the apples of her cheeks turning pink.

“Is it a thing for you, Rookie?” He asks, using his low, strict, Captain voice. “Watching a dude’s ass while he gives it to you.”

“Just yours.” She says.

He leans down and kisses the dimple on the cheek presented to him. He teases at her cunt with his dick until her breathing sounds raggedy.

“How long have you had a thing for my ass, Rookie?” He asks, lining them up, slowly easing in.

She lets out a long, protracted whine that masks the vulgar squelching sound of their union. “ _Ngggh!_ Since  we first met.” She gasps, arching her neck up, her eyes rolling shut.

 _Really?_  Mike seizes midway in surprise.

She puckers her brow and looks at him impatiently. She fidgets her hips when he doesn’t move.

The hot, airtight snugness of her cunt starts to register. 

“Looks like we’re on the same page, Rookie.” He whispers, leaning down to capture her mouth in a deep kiss.

Ginny has a happy smile when he pulls away. Mike groans as she draws him in. Her strong thighs and strong arms wind around his body. He guides himself in deeper but not fully. He releases his hold on his dick and pillars himself by both arms.

“You okay?” He asks, sweat doubling over his face. His spine creaks and protests at the strain.

She nods, squirming.  “Yeah, yeah!” She answers all breathily, like he’s just asked her if she’s still game for more practice. “You’re good.”

Mike adjust himself to rest his weight on his elbows, planking himself above her. He reaches for the the knot on the top of her head. She unfastens the bun hastily with an irritated expression, unaware of his trick to distract her.

Then he pulls out – and she moans. He drags out of her till the head of his dick stays wrapped in the tight grasp of the brim and then plunges in half-way again.

Mike smooths her clumpy half-curly, half-straight hair back till it halos on the pillow, watching her face contort, her loud moan sounding shrill, less husky.

Her cunt feels taut, nicely stretched out around him, a perfect sheath to his throbbing dick. It’s grip and naked heat around his swollen member is so unbelievably good he could pay tribute to it for days in whatever way he can. He levers more weight onto her, digs his knees into the bed and starts thrusting slow and shallow.

“I’m okay, Mike.” She says, closing her arms around his shoulders, slipping her fingers, scratching his scalp. (That’s fast becoming a thing for him and he didn’t even know it.) “Actually…” She gasps. “I’m more than okay – it feels good.”

Mike inwardly congratulates himself on the decision to use the lubricant, but he’s not in the right headspace to trumpet self-glorification. His brain just has one thing on its mind and for once he’s getting it from the person he wants it with.

Ginny thrashes her neck to the side, keeping her eyes tightly shut. He smacks kisses from her temple to her jaw. She tightens her thighs around his, like she wants him deeper.

He resists as best as he can.

“Thought you were all about _not_ being a gentle fuck!” She barks after a few moments.

“That’s 'cause I’m not fucking you, sweetheart.” He retaliates.

Irate fiery eyes meet his (and fuck, if it doesn’t make him want to move faster.)

He manages a cheeky grin. “I am all about making slow, sweet, frickin’ love to you.” He jeers in a pitchy voice.

She makes a face, digging her head back into the pillow and looking up at him an incredulity.

He deliberately maintains the slow, shallow rhythm. “It’s my birthday.” He points out. “and I’ll make love if I want to.”

“Well happy fucking birthday.” She quacks angrily. She twists her mouth furiously, like she does when she’s frustrated.

Mike finds it sexy. Her seething vexation greets him in the roll of her hips when she actively seeks more friction. He finds that sexy too.

“Thought you were all about wanting to see my ass while I fucked you.” He murmurs.

“Apparently, that’s not what you’re doing!” She snaps.

“Patience, Baker.” He whispers evenly and tips his head up. “Don’t you wanna feel _all_ my moves?”

Ginny blinks rapidly and tilts her eyes skywards, widening them like it’s just occurred to her that she’s supposed to be looking at the mirror. Mike slants his body so she can get a better view. Her hand flies to his ass instantly.

He chuckles and inches deeper with his forward thrusts. When he eclipses her view of the reflective ceiling, she twists and angles away.

“Okay, Baker?” He grunts, thrusting deep and slow, looking at her. “You like that?”

She doesn’t respond. Her mouth falls open and her gasps get thicker. Her eyes are wide open, fixed on the ceiling.

He pushes his chest off to angle his hips so he can fuck deeper. She curves her body, clutches the chunkiest part of his clenching glutes. He bottoms out in the next thrust and she fuses her eyes shut, arching against him with breasts peaking into his chest. Her grip on his ass gets painfully tight. Mike holds himself in position till she opens her eyes.

She screws her face, wiggles her pelvis and Mike doesn’t understand what she’s up to until he feels her cunt flutter and cramp down.

“Fuck! Ginny!” He growls, fighting off the pressure to blow his load by a sheer act of will. His heart pummels furiously under his chest wall.

“Sweetheart.” He pleads when she does not relent. “You’re gonna – gonna make me – come.”

“So?” She shouts and pries her eyelids open, looking at him. Her lips are puffy and blowing out short bursts of air. He wants to kiss them but he doesn’t dare move.

“Gin.” He begs between gasps, dropping his weight on her front, and cupping her temples, making sure he is the only thing in her sight. “Let me do this right, sweetheart.”

“But it’s _your_ birthday.” She gripes with in that high-pitched nasal tone, digging her fingernails into his glute.

_Shit. This girl, this woman._

“Exactly.” He huffs an exasperated laugh.

Ginny searches his eyes and then she relaxes her lower body. Mike sighs with relief, dropping his head into her shoulder. When he feels like he’s ready to move again, he resumes his prior position. He covers her mouth with his, kissing her long and slow as he moves - long and slow. He fumbles around, cupping her breasts, bending down to press soft kisses over the blotchy hickeys he’d left on the curved edge of the breast while in the coatroom.

She whimpers a little when he starts moving again. His head feels like a millstone when he lifts it to look at her

She’s watching his actions in the mirror with awe and concentration. It’s the same look she gets when she’s trying to deduce the mechanics of a pitch she can’t get right. He feels her palms, placed over his glutei passively reading his long and deep thrusts, like she’s trying to gauge the force he applies in each muscle.

She fingers the dimples above his butt on either side of his spine when he alternates to slow, short strokes. She moves her hands above over his flank, when he goes fast and shallow. She drums over his ribs like she’s counting them, runs her palms up to his shoulders blades, pulls him closer, grinding her breasts against his chest when he paces both rhythms.

Mike angles himself so he can slide up and down rather than in or out, rubbing his pubic bone over hers, indirectly forcing pressure on her clit. That forces her eyes to break contact with the ceiling and latch on to his face. Her mouth hangs open, her eyes bulge.

“You like that?” He says, feeling her fingernails jab into the back of his deltoids.

She nods with tiny whimpers. He nuzzles along the plane of her jaw, kisses her ear and leans his head into her temple. When he draws back to look, he’s surprised to find her staring at him and not at the mirror. She looks more fascinated.

“Tell me what else you like?” He says, reaching a hand down between them to gently play with her clit. He’s dampens the pace for convenience.

“I like it when you call me ‘sweetheart’.” She whispers, thrusting up to him.

“Mm? ‘Sweetheart’?” He kisses her nose. “You like that?”

“That’s about it, ‘kay.” She answers quickly. “Don’t call me anythin’ weird’n’cheesy, you hear?”

“Weird and cheesy? Like what?” He teases, feeling the pressure build at the base of his spine. He draws his knees forwards and purposefully rotates his hips, churning his rigid length inside her body.

Her gaze snaps to the mirror, and grabby hands snap to his ass.

“Like ‘Babycake’?” He offers.

She glances at him once and pouts. “Yes. Like that.”

“But ‘Babycake’ is so cute.” He crows.

“I’ll cut off your dick.” She bites, still looking at the mirror.

Mike gurgles in guffaws.

“I don’t care how big it is or how happy it makes me. I will cut your dick off, if you call me ‘Babycake’ one more time.” She warns. The look she shoots him then is pretty convincing and Mike nods obediently.

He returns to thrusting in and out. “How about…” He teases. “Hugsy wugsy?”

She wrinkles her nose.

“Smoochie pie?”

She purses her mouth and shakes her head, her dimples emerging.

“Huggy Boo?

She throws her head back and bellows out that horsey laugh. He feels it all over, down to the core of his dick.

“No?” He prompts, with a grin. “How about – ‘Cuddly Bear’?”

“You’re a Cuddly Bear.” She pulls her hands off his ass and pinches his cheeks, giving him with that adorable, megawatt smile.

He stills, delaying the spasm that’s cracking down his spine. She rides him from beneath, still pulling at his cheeks. Mike grins wider. It’s cut short with a groan when she tightens around him.

“Okay.” He huffs. “Yeah – I’m…not gonna last too long.” He grunts.

He gathers her in his arms, hauls her weight up in a mighty heave, rocking back on his haunches. She rises with a surprised shriek. Her arms and legs flounder till she’s wrapped around him like a starfish.

Her yelp is what stops him from coming hard by the change in position alone. Mercifully they’re still joined or he’s positive his dick would have cracked. He pulls her to sit on top of his thighs, hugs her tight, breathing heavily into her neck till she quietens.

He draws back to look up at her.

Her hair looks like someone took a taser to it. Half standing, half flopping, curling in some places, poker straight in others. It’s ridiculous enough to elicit a laugh (maybe even a feeble declaration of abject love as well).  

Except he can’t. He’s got no energy left  to say or do anything but cum. He flashes her a naughty half grin and waits.

“You’re such an idiot.” She giggles as she flattens her feet on the mattress and rides him. “You’re gonna break your back or your knees or both.” She pants out, bracing his shoulders for leverage, rising up and down over him.

He doesn’t have a retort. He sucks his tongue against his palate, hissing every time she screws her powerful hips down in a thrust.

Her countenance changes – the indulgence is lost. A feverish look of urgent need overtakes it: a telling furrow in her brow and a revealing hitch of her breath. Mike angles himself so that the head of dick jabs right against that spot he’d worked out with his fingers.

It gives him some semblance of control and relief. That he might still get her to come yet. He widens his tortured knees and pushes up. She swings when he rocks up and faster, crooking backwards, her hands bracing his shoulders. He catches her round ass, runs a free hand from the ridges on her windpipe, down her breastbone to her navel.

He cranks her upper body up, the need to watch her orgasm taking priority over everything else. She recoils forward like a rubberband.

He covers a breast, licking and sucking the nipple with his mouth, kneading the plump flesh with his hand. He releases her tit with loud humming smacks. She cries urgently, bearing down faster, bouncing on his dick, her tits jumping and swaying with her. 

The need for release is downright painful but the need to hear more of those husky groans and her whiny gasps seems pretty important too.

Her hands fasten around his nape, fingers interlocking tight. Her body inverts unflinchingly, pressure building on his neck vertebrae. A guttural complaint escapes his throat, all attempts to straighten her by tugging his shaky, unsteady hands feel futile.

Her flexible lithe body tips back, her elastic spine curves upwards, her stomach hollows, her ribcage scallops out -  inch by thrusting inch.

Mike grunts with frustration that he can’t see her face, lacking the energy to yank her up again. He throws his head helplessly, hoping to see her in the mirror, almost roaring with relief because at least it’s a decent view.

(More than a decent view. It’s fuckin’ gorgeous – is what it is.)

Ginny lets out a fierce, primal sound. He throws his arms around her securing her frame in a tight hug before she falls back. Her knees slam violently on the mattress. Her face spasms beautifully.

She screams his name – loud and hoarse, and comes all over his dick.

And it’s everything.

She moans and whimpers, euphoric after-seizures dashing across her face. Mike flings her down (the force is unintentional – he meant to let her down gentle but-) everything’s fucked up and fucked out.

He squeezes his eyes when tension starts snowballing in the base of his spine. He hastily shoves his dick inside her welcoming cunt. She readily swings her legs so high and so wide, Mike bottoms out as soon as he’s in. She drags him down with trembling hands and a moan, sinks into the mattress under his downing weight.

He fucks her, so hard and so fast, the bed starts to creak, she cries with every thrust and his balls slap rapidly against her skin. Her tight pulsing cunt practically wrings his length. He doesn’t know whether it’s an active feat on her part, or the passive contractions of her orgasm.

Point is, he selfishly doesn’t care.

His orgasm is brutal and explosive. A thunderclap inside his head, fireworks in his groin, a shouting roar exploding out of his throat, that powerful rush of his seed pouring into her.  He barks a laugh of relief, clinging to her, fills her up to the brim, the last remnants of his release spilling out between their thighs.

He feels nothing and hears nothing other than the acute thunder of his furious heart. His mind blank, as completely spent as his dazed body.

It’s the noises she makes that allude to her discomfort. He’s somewhat mindful that he’s being insensitive to her suffocation under his unchecked weight.

He feels paralyzed. It takes Ginny’s strength to force him off. She applies all that adamantine energy into a push. He rolls back willing but inert, collapsing on the bed.

He opens his eyes to the ceiling. Sees himself first. He’s spread eagled, bathed in sweat, dick flaccid, skin flushed red, wheezing – and with stupidest, smuggest grin he’s ever had in his life.

Ginny’s lying to her side, looking at his face, panting softly, her hand intertwined with his.

Sensation returns. Starting with the familiarity of her touch, the affection he feels through her fingers caressing his. It sweeping over his numbed nerve endings like a healing deluge of energy.

She twists her neck to look up. Their eyes lock in the mirror. She smiles wide, breathing deeply. 

His neck is numb, refusing to move. He can’t even flop his head, let alone turn it to her. All he can do is grin back at her reflection. All he can think about is how much he loves her.

‘Happy birthday!’ she mouths in the mirror and winks, dimples intensifying with her growing smile.

Like the golden Californian sunshine, piercing through a cloudy sky.

Mike can only laugh through his eyes. Nothing works yet.

_Happy fuckin’ birthday, indeed._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may or may not add a 5th chapter thanks to an Anon's suggestion (read: Mike eating cake off Ginny's body. Or was it the other way around?).  
> My smut vocab's officially in need of a refill so I guess I'll stop it here for now. This chapter took effort to write and balance out. Reviews will be thoroughly appreciated.  
> Thank you all for your patronage.


End file.
